Too Dark to See
by Catslynw
Summary: Tag to Episode 5-16, Dark Side of the Moon. Despairing after meeting the angel Joshua in Heaven, Dean takes drastic action. Michael doesn't quite know what hit him. Castiel is pissed, Sam is heartbroken and Bobby makes an unexpected discovery.
1. Chapter 1

Too Dark to See

Dean finished his preparations a week to the day after he died. Well, after the last time he died. He wasn't even certain how many times this made. With Sam it was easier to recall each occasion when he'd bit it, every death was burned into Dean's memory, a painful, throbbing ache that never entirely faded, though it did dull a little as the months went by. There was the first time, when Jake had stabbed Sam in the back. That had been the worst. There was the time Sam got hit by lightning because of that crazy Babylonian wish-granting coin. Then, Dean's personal favorite, his little brother had been murdered by Dean's former flame and friend – or so he'd thought – Anna. That had been whole lot of no fun. And now there was Roy and Walt. Four times Sam had been dead and four time he'd come back. It would probably have been a record if not for Dean himself. Not even counting the near misses like his electrocution, thanks to Gabriel the Trickster Dean had died on more than a hundred separate occasions, maybe a lot more. If it weren't for the fact that this time he'd wound up in Heaven instead of Hell, his most recent death wouldn't even have been worth mentioning. He had wound up in Heaven, though, and Heaven had sucked. Big time.

Joshua, God's gardener, had warned them that they would actually remember their afterlife this time. He'd said it like it was strange, like it was some kind of punishment. That was the only thing that didn't quite make sense to Dean, because he'd always remembered. He could still recall every second of his time in Hell, at least that last time, the one that had counted. The ones from Gabriel's time loop might as well not have existed as far as he was concerned. Still, the remembering Heaven thing puzzled him. Joshua acted as if Dean had been to the attic before, that he just couldn't remember it, but that had to be so much bullshit because Dean had been basement-bound every single time he'd kicked the bucket before, bound by his crossroads deal. Joshua was either a liar or one very confused angel.

None of that mattered much, though. Not now. Not when Dean was finally ready. Squatting down, he lit the last of the candles around the circle of Enochian sigils he'd spent the last two hours inscribing perfectly on the concrete floor. Then, standing at the northern point of the star that encompassed the summoning circle, Dean opened Bobby's tattered old book and spoke the words that would change his life forever. When he'd performed a similar ritual before, with Bobby, he'd had to wait nearly an hour for Castiel to finally put in an appearance. Michael was much prompter. Dean had barely finished the final syllables of the chant when the door at the end of the barn opened and a scrawny kid with a backpack and skater shoes walked in. Despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the irrevocable insanity of what he was about to do, Dean couldn't help a small double take and a smile. Michael looked about ten, walked with an erect posture that the real kid probably couldn't pull off for a family photo, and had the earphones of an iPod dangling from the pocket of his hoodie. Somehow, even knowing that his father was dead, Dean had been expecting Michael to show up looking like his dad, not some kid from _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_.

"Michael?" he asked uncertainly.

"Hello, Dean. I came the moment I heard your call. What can I do for you?" The boy's voice hadn't changed yet, for pity's sake, and for one horrible moment Dean seriously contemplated bailing on his whole plan. How could he have the conversation he needed to have with a kid? The boy – the angel, seemed to sense his unease. He contemplated Dean in silence for a moment, then said, "This vessel disturbs you?"

Dean huffed out an uncomfortable laugh. "You could say that. I mean, I thought I was the only vessel that can contain you. Aren't you killing that kid by being in him?"

"I'm careful. I only take a vessel when I must and only for very brief periods. I told you, I'm not like Raphael or Lucifer. Still, if seeing this particular vessel disturbs you so..." Michael closed his eyes and trailed off. An instant later, John Winchester, looking about twenty-five years old, opened his eyes and gazed back at Dean with a solemn expression. "Is this better?" he asked seriously.

Dean gulped. Seeing his Dad again, especially the young version of his father, was never easy. "Are you really him?"

"No, of course not. John is… unavailable. This is merely an illusion for your comfort. Does it help?"

Dean looked down at the floor, licked his lips, looked back up. John was easier to face than a ten-year-old even if he wasn't real. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Michael nodded in satisfaction and took a step closer. As he did, the barn door that had opened for him only moments before, clanged shut, seemingly of its own accord. Dean managed not to jump but only just. "So, why did you call me? Have you changed your mind about saying yes?"

Dean took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Actually, I have, but there are conditions."

For a moment, Michael looked self-satisfied, almost smug, but as Dean finished speaking, his expression shifted to one of extreme displeasure. "I am not some crossroad demon to be bartered with."

"I know that, believe me. When it comes to making deals, demons you can trust and angels are more like the used car salesmen of the heavens. But I also know that you want to get this show on the road, so I'm betting that you'll hear me out. Besides, I'm hoping maybe you'll be able to sympathize with what I want, one big brother to another."

"I'm listening," Michael said, his expression stern.

"There are four things I want," Dean began.

"Just four?" Michael demanded incredulously. "Why stop there? Why not six or seven? Then again, I thought three wishes were traditional. Don't you think you're pushing it a little?"

Dean continued on as if Michael hadn't interrupted with his diatribe. "I want you to fix Bobby's legs. Make it so he can walk again. Make him healthy. I want him to live to be a really grumpy, really _old_ man."

Michael waved one of John's hands dismissively. "I can do that easily enough."

"Will you?" his heart skittered excitedly in his chest. If Bobby could walk again…

"Let me hear the other conditions first," the angel demanded, beginning to pace in front of Dean, his annoyance with the human's demands palpable.

Dean nodded. "I want you to let Cas back in the club. Let him go home."

Michael paused, staring into nothingness for a moment. When he finally looked at Dean, he said, "That… is far more complicated a request. It would not – "

"Don't tell me it's not possible." Dean said in a rush. "You're Heaven's freakin' general, the big honcho in the angel ranks. You could make it happen if you wanted to. He doesn't deserve any of this, so let him go home again or no deal."

"You feel strongly about this?" Michael said, sounding surprised. "He means so much to you?"

"He's my friend," Dean said simply.

Michael heaved a sigh. "You are a sentimentalist, Dean Winchester, an annoying, often crude, pig-headed sentimentalist, but there you are. You have a good heart."

"Yeah, whatever. What's it going to be?"

"I will do what I can to help _your_ Castiel."

"Good," Dean said in relief. "I also want Zachariah off Sam's back for good. I don't want that petty little prick hanging over his head for the rest of time. You make him leave Sam alone. Kill him, ream him a new one, I don't care as long as you guarantee that he won't be able to persecute Sam anymore."

"Zachariah is a loyal servant of Heaven."

"Loyal my lily white buttocks! Zack is a self-serving, ladder-climbing dick with wings."

"His methods are questionable, it is true, but he believes he is working in Heaven's best interests."

"Yeah, well, so did Anna, and you fried her alive fast enough. And I've got a news flash for you, it's not about the apocalypse anymore so far as Ass-Hat is concerned. He just wants to make us hurt, to watch us bleed. Whatever he may have been before, now he's all about the payback.

"I would never allow such a thing," Michael insisted, frowning at Dean. "Your fears are groundless."

"You didn't stop it last week," Dean retorted hotly.

"I was not in Heaven last week," Michael explained hurriedly, sounding, to Dean's ears, the faintest bit guilty. "I have been wandering the Earth, searching for… it doesn't matter."

"Yeah, well, that's a great comfort to me and Sam, let me tell you."

Michael scowled, making John's eyes glitter dangerously, but after a moment he said, "I can do what you ask. Once Lucifer is gone, once I return to Heaven, I can control Zachariah and all the others, and if he steps out of line, I will kill him as I would kill any other traitor. For as long as I remain in command, your little Sammy will be safe. That's the best I can offer."

"Then I guess it will have to be good enough. Just… promise me you'll keep a close eye on that bastard. He's vindictive, and Sam has suffered enough."

"You have my word."

"For what it's worth," Dean muttered. Michael's frown deepened, and he rolled his eyes heavenward reminding Dean eerily of his actual father.

"You said you have four requests," the angel said impatiently. "What is your last demand? You want to be king of the world? You want a hundred dancing girls and dozen dancing boys thrown in for good measure? What do you _want_, Dean?"

Dean gulped. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out except a dry sort of croak. Why was it so hard to say? What did he want anyway? What did he really want? Did he even know anymore? Sometimes it felt like it was too dark to see inside his own mind. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he tried again. "I want… I want you to kill me."

"What?"

"When this is all over, when Lucifer is dead and you don't need me as a vessel anymore, I want you to destroy my soul." Dean's heart pounded in his chest. Was this suicide? Did asking someone else to kill you count as suicide as far as angels were concerned? And if it did, would Michael care?

"Why would you ask for that?" the angel asked, clearly stunned by the request. "How could you possibly want that?"

"I'm done, Michael. I'm just done. There is nothing left in this world or beyond it that holds any hope for me, any promise of something better. I always thought that, if there really was a Heaven, then I'd be reunited with my family someday. That we would _be_ a family again, but that's just not going to happen. I only want the pain to end for good, and I don't want to go back to Hell."

"Dean," the angel said earnestly, taking a step toward him, hands outstretched, "Dean, you are not damned. Even if you are tired of living, Heaven does wait for you. There is no reason to seek oblivion."

Dean shook his head. "You don't get it. I don't want to go back to Hell, but I will be damned if I want to spend the rest of time in your God's idea of Heaven. An eternity alone?" He shook his head. "No thank you. I just want it to be over. I just want… peace. You can do that, right? You can give me that?" He said the last like the plea it was, desperate for Michael to say yes. This had to work. It had to.

The angel hesitated, staring not at Dean but at some inner vista only he could see. "I – "

"Please, Michael. Please."

"It... it is within my power to do what you ask," he admitted hesitantly, "but what about Sam?"

"What about him?"

"Once you are gone, once the apocalypse is over, there will still be danger in this world," the angel replied. "Other hunters may come seeking justice or revenge as Roy and Walt did. Sam could die."

"Maybe he will. Maybe he won't," Dean agreed. "But, your God has granted him salvation, right? So if Sam dies, he goes to Heaven and gets what he always really wanted." Dean smiled bitterly. "He'll be fine as long as you take care of Zachariah and Lucifer. So, do we have a deal?"

"I am not a demon. I am not bound by such an agreement," Michael said slowly, still looking disturbed by Dean's proposal. "Nothing can force me to abide by the terms you have set down."

"I know, but I'm just going to have to trust that you'll keep your word." Dean shrugged. "What other choice do I have?"

Michael's eyes went distant for a time. Then the angel stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of Dean. With a sigh he reached one hand toward the hunter's arm.

Dean flinched, drawing hastily away. "Whoa! Do we have a deal or don't we?"

"We do," Michael said solemnly.

"Then let's get this over with. No back pats or shoulder slaps needed. Skip the man hug thing. Just take me."

Michael's scowl grew deeper. "You make me sound like a demon."

"Sorry," Dean said, neither meaning nor sounding it. "Feels kind of the same to me."

Michael reached for Dean's arm again, and the hunter frowned and jerked back. "Dude? What the heck?"

"You want me to help Castiel?" Michael demanded impatiently.

"Well, yeah."

"He has been running from all of us, from his own kin, for some time now. He would resist any attempt by me to approach him, and he might be injured irreversibly in the process. He would come here if you called him, but I don't believe you want him to know of your offer just yet, do you?

"No."

"Then only by following the link between you and Castiel can I safely do as you ask. I cannot _take you _until then. I must help my young brother first."

"You'll do it, though? You'll give him back his mojo now?" Dean asked, surprised that Michael was ready to go through with part of their bargain while Dean was still human, still able to run away.

"Yes. It will provide you with some proof of my intent to follow through on your other requests, an earnest of good faith. Besides, once I am inside you, the bond between you and Castiel will be severed forever, overwhelmed by the more powerful connection between us. If I am going to help him as you wish, then it is best for everyone that I do it now."

Dean said nothing, but he quickly took off his coat and overshirt, then pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing Castiel's fading handprint. As Michael reached forward to touch it, he looked away, uncomfortable watching as another angel fingered Castiel's handiwork. Cas was going to be so pissed at him for this. If only…

"You love them all very much," Michael said, startling Dean out of his introspection.

"I do," Dean replied, surprised into honesty.

"You love them enough to give them what they need, enough to die for them, but not enough to live for them." The angel sounded disapproving, a dangerous stance to take considering that he was getting what he wanted out of this deal.

"They don't need me. They'll be fine."

Michael didn't reply in words, but his hand suddenly closed tightly over Dean's arm, the grip quickly becoming painful. Then, slowly at first, Dean felt power trickling through his skin like water through a bloody shirt, until he was saturated with it, overflowing. There was light, so much light everywhere and it burned. He closed his eyes, but it didn't help because the light came from _inside_. His senses swam, and then he felt his legs buckling. The ground rose up quickly to meet him, but the angel was faster, and Dean found himself cradled gently in Michael's arms… his father's arms.

Almost at once, the cellphone in Dean's pocket began to ring. "Did it work?" Dean asked tiredly, his head still floating oddly on his shoulders.

"Yes," Michael said, smiling wryly. "Buck up, kiddo. Castiel's power is restored, his connection to Heaven re-established. I'm not saying all our brothers and sisters will welcome him with open arms, but he can go home again."

"Awesome," Dean croaked. The phone kept ringing as the angel set Dean firmly back on his feet. The hunter swayed for a moment, then placing one hand on Michael's shoulder for support, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. It was Cas on the caller ID. Shocker. He flipped the cell open and hit Send.

"Dean, where are you?" Castiel's voice came clearly over the line, immediate and urgent. Dean said nothing, unable even to think as the full import of what he'd done sank in. "Dean, you must tell me where you are. Something has happened."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered too softly for a human to even pick up, but he wasn't exactly speaking to a human.

"What? Sorry? Dean, what is happening? Where are you?" Castiel sounded beyond alarmed and well on his way to a full-blown angelic panic attack.

"I'm sorry I'm not the man you needed me to be," Dean replied, speaking more clearly this time. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, but it will be okay now. Bye Cas."

"Dean!"

Dean hung up and pocketed the cellphone reflexively. Then, squaring his shoulders, he looked Michael directly in the eyes. "I'm ready."

The End

*Author's Note: My beta reader, the divine Eideann, strongly dislikes this ending. She wants a happy ending. She was quite adamant. To be specific, she flipped me off and then demanded more. Any comments, dear readers? Also, the title is from the song "Knocking on Heaven's Door." It seemed appropriate.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Well, a lot of people chimed with their opinions on whether or not this story should be continued. The votes were decidedly on the, "please write more," side. My beta reader continued to grouse, and after watching the episode 99 Problems, continuing this story just seemed like a bit of a duh. I am also working on a tag to 99 Problems which is actually set mid-way through Point of No Return and is based in large part on the spoiler clips you can see of that episode on . I highly suggest checking them out because I was right…Cas is PISSED. Do let me know if you want more of this story as I have many others in the works, and my writing is directly proportional to my feedback. It's a karmic math thing._

Sam was carefully pushing his nearly full cart through the narrow space between a support pillar and a display when his cellphone began to ring. _Angel_ by Madonna: it was Castiel's ringtone and Dean's idea of a joke. That was what Sam got for leaving his cell lying around where his brother could get at it. Dean was all about the juvenile humor, or at least he had been before everything got so… crappy. But all that mattered at the moment, was that Castiel was actually calling.

Yanking the cart to a halt and snatching his phone out of his pocket, Sam hit the talk button. "Hey, Cas, are you okay? We've been – "

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the K-Mart in Sioux Falls. Bobby needed some help stocking up on supplies and – "

There was a momentary pause. "Which one?"

"The one on 12th Street. Cas, what – "

Before Sam could finish his question, the angel was beside him. Sam felt all the hairs on his body stand on end, the hair on his head shifting and swaying as if moved by an invisible breeze. His skin tingled the way it did after a lightning strike, and all he could think was that this was more what he'd always thought meeting an angel would feel like. A customer service phone and a price scanner mounted on the pillar both crackled noisily, emitted a shower of sparks and began to smoke. Sam stared at Castiel, astonished. The angel's skin was glowing in a way he'd never seen before, glowing almost as Anna's had when she retook her grace, as if lit by some inner fire. Yet none of that was as striking as the air of anxiety radiating from the angel and the look of absolute fury in his cold blue eyes.

Castiel seized Sam by the arm. "Where is Dean?" he demanded.

"Back at Bobby's place. He was doing a tune up on the Impala's engine. Why? Is there – "

"He is not there. I just came from there. Sam, something has happened."

"I can see that. You look – " Sam broke off as he saw three store employees converging on their location, one holding a fire extinguisher in a purposeful manner. "Uh, Cas, we really need to – " A hand descended on Sam's shoulder and he abruptly found himself standing just outside Bobby's house. The shopping cart he'd been holding onto was beside him, his fingers still gripping the handle. Well that was one way to bring him the bacon he thought with mild hysteria. The Oldsmobile he'd borrowed from Bobby for the shopping run, however, was no doubt still in the parking lot. They'd have to retrieve it later, but…

"Cas, you look like you've been supercharged. What the Hell is going on?"  
"Not Hell. Heaven. My 'angel mojo' has been completely restored, my ties to Heaven renewed."

"That's great," Sam exclaimed immediately, but then sense reasserted itself. "Wait. That's not great. Why would they do that? What… why… where's Dean?"

"That's what I've been asking you. I called him. He answered but would not tell me where he was. He… apologized."

"Apologized for what," Sam demanded, wondering just what Dean thought he's done now.

"I am not certain, but he said that everything was going to be okay now and then he hung up."

"Everything's going to – " Sam ground to a halt as realization dawned. There was only one thing Dean could mean by that. His brother was going to make some kind of deal, with Heaven or maybe even with Hell. Dean had been quiet since their return from Heaven, more distant even than he'd been after Sam raised Lucifer. He hadn't even asked about his amulet, hadn't commented once on the fact that Sam now wore it around his own neck after retrieving it from the trash where Dean had chucked it. No. He'd just been quiet, thinking but not talking, and definitely not sharing. Sam's big brother was primed to do something desperate, something stupid like… "No, no, no, no," Sam pleaded as he rushed inside. His laptop was still sitting open on Bobby's desk and Sam immediately brought up the LoJack website.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding Dean," Sam said. "I had the Impala LoJacked when Dean was in – when he was gone. He was so upset about the stupid iPod jack that I never told him. I just couldn't face the idea of something happening to the car when practically the last thing Dean ever asked of me was to take care of his wheels." Sam was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but the website was loading at what felt like a snail's pace despite Bobby's stellar internet connection.

"What is a LoJack?"

"It's a GPS tracking system," Sam explained, typing information in frantically. "It means we can find the car."

"And if we find the car, we find Dean. Hurry, Sam," Castiel demanded urgently, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.

"I'm going as fast as I – Got it! Dean's about twelve miles from here. The address is – "

Once more a hand clamped down meaningfully on Sam's shoulder. There was a sound of wings rustling, wind whipped about him like a small tornado, and Sam found himself standing outside a barn on the McKenzie farm. The place had gone up on the auction block after the bank foreclosed about six months back. As far as Bobby knew, however, the new owner had bought the whole thing as an investment and had no intention of moving anyone onto the property. The buildings had been emptied out, padlocked and left to themselves. But the chain and packlock that must have secured the barn door were hanging loose, rattling gently against the wood as gusts of wind blew through the fields. Castiel vanished, presumably into the barn, and Sam ran as if Hellhounds were chasing him to catch up. Sliding the door open, he darted inside and stopped dead at the sight which greeted him.

Castiel was already pinned to a wall, his feet dangling in open air a good two feet above the concrete floor. Holding him there, though not physically touching him, was… Dean. Sam gaped at him, his legs going leaden and a feeling like ice water slithering up his spine. Dean's face was blank, his expression flat and emotionless except for something in his eyes. They weren't the black or white of demon eyes, just his own true, radiant green and that… that meant…

As Sam watched, baffled, a figure lying on the ground at Dean's feet stirred and rolled over. It was a kid, a boy who couldn't be more than twelve years old, tops. The kid sat up, rubbed at his forehead as if it was hurting him and gazed up at Sam's brother in something like surprise. "Michael?" he asked. His eyes darted from Dean to Castiel and back again as he scrambled to his feet. He hadn't yet, it seemed, noticed Sam. "Michael, what's going on?" he asked, edging closer to the archangel while watching Castiel's struggles with wide, frightened eyes.

"It's all right, Edward," Dean/Michael replied, a small smile suffusing his blank expression with surprising warmth. "These men won't harm you. They'll see that you get home safely." Michael turned, fixing his gaze on Sam, and Sam shuddered to see a stranger looking at him so intently out of Dean's eyes. "Won't you, Sam?"

"You son of a bitch!" Sam yelled, unable to contain himself any longer. "You get out of my brother!"

Dean's brows drew down in a frown and he glared at Sam, his eyes flashing with an inner light. For a moment, one terrifying, certain moment, Sam was positive that Michael was going the smite him there and then, ending the problem of Lucifer's true vessel forever and rendering moot the question of whether or not Sam would ever say yes. Sam recoiled instinctively as Michael extended a hand toward him, but Castiel yelled, "No!" and the archangel turned back to face his younger brother. "Don't!"

Michael walked over to Castiel, where the younger angel was still pinned to the wall, still fought desperately against invisible bonds. Reaching up, he touched two fingers to Castiel's forehead and Sam could do nothing but watch, horrified, as his friend first slumped into unconsciousness and then fell bonelessly to the barn floor. His heart hitched in his chest. Not dead. Please, not dead. Dean. He couldn't even bare to think about Dean. Just… just don't let Castiel be dead.

Michael turned back to Sam and Sam was startled to see something that looked suspiciously like compassion in his eyes. "Take care of Edward, Sam. It's what Dean would want." Then, there was a great rustling of feathers, a flash of light – rainbow like – and Michael was gone. Dean was gone. Sam shook. He just stood there and shook, unable even to check on Castiel. Dean. He'd gone and done it. The stupid, arrogant, idiot had gone and… God. No. Please, God, no. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, trailing down his cheeks, but he didn't bother to brush them away, couldn't be bothered to care. What could he do? How could he help Dean now? How could he get him back? There had to be something he could do!

Sam flinched as a hand closed gently on his arm. Looking down, he saw the boy, Edward, looking up at him with nervous alarm. "Are you Sam Winchester," he asked, his voice breaking twice in just those few short words.

"I am," Sam said, swallowing back the shouts and screams that wanted to burst forth. The kid, whoever he was, couldn't be responsible for any of this, and Sam was freaking him out with his hysteria. He could see it in the tense set of the kid's shoulders, the hair-trigger set of his muscles, ready to run despite the baggy clothing and bulging backpack. "You're Edward?"

"Yeah. Umm, listen, I don't remember exactly what happened very well, but that Dean guy gave me – gave Michael something to give you."

"Gave you? You were Michael's vessel?"

The boy nodded. "One of them. Here." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a folded up envelope and handed it to Sam. "He asked Michael to make sure you got this."

Snatching the envelope out of the kid's hand, Sam ripped it open and began to read, the envelope itself fluttering forgotten to the floor.

_Sam,_

_If everything works out the way I'm hoping, the apocalypse will be over soon and you won't have to worry about Lucifer or the rest of the dicks with wings anymore. Bobby's legs should be better by now or they will be soon. Either way, you'll have each other for backup. Even with his legs back, Bobby's been through a rough time lately, so for Pete's sake, don't run off and ditch him like you did after I went to Hell. He'll need you and we owe him, so you'll have to pay that debt for the both of us. Take care of him. I'd say take care of yourself, but you always have, and I guess it's time for me to finally let go. I wish you whatever you wish for yourself. I hope you find it._

_So long little brother,_

_Dean_

Sam's hand clenched around the letter, and it crumpled in his fist even as Sam's heart crumpled within his chest. His other hand rose to his throat where it clutched the amulet that hung there. Dean's amulet. The one Sam had given him. The one his brother had thrown away, convinced that Sam didn't feel as strongly for him as he felt for his… Sammy. Sam collapsed to his knees, sobs tearing their way out of him. Dean…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam wasn't certain how long he knelt there, lost to everything but his grief and his guilt, before a warm hand on his back drew him to an awareness of the world around him. Looking up through tear-filled eyes, he saw Castiel standing beside him, watching him gravely. "He's gone," Sam whispered brokenly. "Dean's…"

"I know, Sam," the angel replied just as softly. "I know, but we can't stay here. Demons may be attracted to this place, or even other angels. We must go."

Sam nodded. Castiel place a hand under his arm, steadying him, and Sam got jerkily to his feet. He let the angel guide him outside with Edward trailing along behind them, wondering the whole time why Castiel didn't just beam them back to Bobby's house. Outside, the angel paused, clearly looking for something, and it took only a moment for Sam to realize what was missing. The spell preparation in the barn had clearly taken some time and a lot of paraphernalia. No way had Dean walked from Bobby's house to the McKenzie farm, not twelve miles hauling an armload of magic crap. The Impala had to be around there somewhere. They eventually found it hidden behind another outbuilding, well out of sight of the road. The doors were unlocked, but the trunk was shut and there was no sign of the keys anywhere.

"I could hotwire it," Sam offered, looking over at Castiel numbly. The angel had one hand clasped on Edward's shoulder. Placing his other hand on the roof of the car, he instructed Sam to do the same. He did. In an instant, they were all back at Bobby's place, car and kid included. Sam stood there, staring at the house over the top of the car. Dean was gone. Castiel walked inside, his hand still clamped onto Edward's shoulder. He paused when he reached the porch, looking back at Sam questioningly. Sam caressed the polished roof of the car for a moment and then followed after him.

Neither of them was particularly surprised when Bobby came running down the stairs at the sound of their entrance, a revolver held firmly in one hand, a silver knife in the other and the handset from one of his cordless phones clutched between his ear and shoulder. "Damn it to Hell!" Bobby shouted the instant he saw them. "Where have you been? And where's Dean?"  
Sam tried to answer, actually started to speak, said, "Dean," but that was as far as he could get before his throat closed up and no more sound would come out. It hardly mattered. Castiel was still emanating a soft glow, like a nightlight, and Bobby gaped at him, the phone falling forgotten from his shoulder.

"Shit," the older hunter finally grumbled. "What is going on?"

The angel opened his mouth, presumably to answer, but he was stopped by an unexpected question before he could really begin.

"Umm, where's the bathroom?" Edward asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "It's been like three weeks, so could I please…"

Bobby blinked at the kid in startlement, seeming only just then to even realize that they had a stranger in their midst, then he pointed with the knife back toward the base of the stairs. "Second door on the left, just past the stairs."

"Thanks," Edward murmured, then dodging out from under Castiel's loosened grip, he took off at an urgent speed walk.

All three of them watched him go, but when Sam would have turned back to Bobby, tried once more to explain, Castiel was suddenly directly beside him, whispering urgently in his ear. "Go with the boy. Make certain he does not leave. I will… break the news to Bobby."

Sam nodded gratefully and took off after the kid. That was one conversation he was just as happy to miss, though he knew Bobby really should hear it from him. He just found it hard to think straight at the moment, let alone care about how Dean's…. how Dean's… absence would affect anyone else. He got to the bathroom just in time to hear the lock click into place on the inside of the door. Edward still had his backpack with him, and Sam briefly wondered whether the kid wouldn't try to make a break for it through the bathroom window. The old double-hung window was small, but then, so was the kid. Frankly, Sam wasn't sure he gave a damn if the kid did make a run for it. What difference did it make? The worst had already happened. Dean had said yes to Michael. Short of blowing up the planet, nothing that any other angel did could make things much worse. Not for Sam. Not for Dean. Sam's big brother was gone. Maybe gone forever. Michael would take on Lucifer. If the archangel lost, Lucifer would kill him and Dean with him and then sear humanity from the face of the planet. If Michael won, it many ways it might be even worse for Dean and for Sam. There was no expiration date on vessels. Castiel had made that abundantly clear when he told Jimmy Novak that becoming a vessel again could mean centuries of pain and torment. And Cas was just a foot soldier. As an archangel, especially an archangel who had theoretically just defeated Satan, there was no telling how long Michael might keep Dean as his vessel. Dean could be trapped not just for centuries, but for millennium. Jimmy had described housing Castiel as akin to riding the tail of a comet. If Dean did come back from this by some miracle, would he come back sane?

Sam's stomach churned, nausea fighting past the numbness to which he so desperately clung. This was like that summer all over again, that horrible, unthinkable summer after Dean had gone to Hell. Only this time, Sam didn't even have prayer to comfort him. What in the name of… what was he going to do?

The sound of a toilet flushing, quickly followed by the sound of water running in the sink, jerked Sam's attention back to the here and now. Apparently the kid had a good hygiene. Sam felt tears welling up as he contemplated what kind of scathing remarks Dean would make about an adolescent male who actually washed up after emptying the tank. Damn it, Dean. How could you do this to me?

Edward emerged from the bathroom slowly, not looking entirely surprised to find a sentry on duty outside the door. He smiled nervously at Sam, then frowned when he got a good look at Sam's face. "That guy who left with Michael, the new vessel, he was your brother?" the kid asked. Sam nodded. "Hey look, he'll be okay," Edward said, hitching his backpack further up onto his shoulder. "Michael will take good care of him. Really."

Fury, unexpected as it was potent, filled Sam at this patently ridiculous statement. He straightened away from the wall where he'd been slumped, his breath speeding up. For the first time in his life, Sam Winchester felt himself filled with the nearly overwhelming urge to strike a child. Michael and the other angels were out of reach, but this boy… this boy had brought Michael to Dean. This kid had gotten away, and left Dean's brother to suffer in his place. In that moment, Sam hated him as he'd hated no one since Lilith. Kill, his mind whispered. Go ahead. You don't need psychic powers for this one. Just reach out and –

Edward must have sensed some of what Sam was feeling, seen something in the hunter's eyes, because he backed away hastily, backed straight into Castiel. The kid jumped when he collided with another warm body, but he relaxed measurably when he saw that it was the angel behind him. Castiel dropped both of his hands onto Edward's shoulders and turned the boy back toward the living room and Bobby. He said not a word of either reproach or comfort to Sam, and Sam seethed with anger as he followed in their wake. Heaven would pay for taking Dean away from him. As Lilith had paid, Heaven would pay.

_*Author's note: I know this is a bit short, but the next one should be nice and long and full of unexpected surprises. Until then, dear reader, please review and feel free to check out my other stories and those of my beta reader, Eideann. May the road rise up to meet your feet and may your shadow never grow bulkier._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Bobby was sitting on the edge of his desk, hands balled into fists on his thighs. He looked up as they entered, and the devastation that Sam saw in the older hunter's eyes echoed his own. His eyes drifted from Sam to Castiel and the kid and back again. "So, now what?" he demanded, focusing at last on the angel. "Do we just sit back and wait for the end? "

"The end?" Edward asked.

"The end of the world, kid," Bobby snapped. "What the hell, Cas? I thought this kid was supposed to be a vessel? How can he not know what I'm talking about?"

"He is. However, vessels are not always aware of what happens when they are occupied." Castiel looked down at Edward who was looking back up at him. "Edward, there are things we must know. Things I need to ask you."

"I don't know," the boy said uncertainly.

"You don't know?" Sam repeated, taking a menacing step toward Edward. "You don't know. Listen, you little – "

"Sam!" Castiel interjected. "He is a child."

"He's one of them!" he yelled. "They've used all of us! That bastard, Michael is using Dean, and he – " Sam broke off as Bobby stepped between him and the boy. When Sam went to go around him, blood pounding behind his temples, Bobby lunged for him, snatched at his arm, half falling over on legs that were still clearly unsteady. Sam clutched at him instinctively, first lifting him up and then gently settling him back in his wheelchair. The older hunter's skin was stained with red, utterly humiliated by his fall, but he didn't release his hold on Sam's arm.

"Damn it, kid," Bobby growled. "Get a handle on this. We can't afford for you to lose it now of all times."

"Yes, that is enough, Sam," Castiel said, his arm still draped protectively over the boy's shoulders. "He is no more responsible for what has happened than Jimmy is responsible for the choices I have made. You must calm down."

Digging his nails into the palms of his hands, Sam turned away. He walked across the room and sat on the edge of Bobby's bed. He tried to apologize, but the words got stuck in his chest, wouldn't even make it to his vocal chords. Instead he just stared at his fisted hands, tears of anger as well as grief welling up in his eyes. Damn the angels for this. Damn all of them.

"Edward, I can see that you feel some sense of obligation to Michael, but you must understand that we are fighting to save humanity."

"So is he," Edward insisted. "He has to stop the Devil."

"There may be other ways."

"There's not. It's the archangel Michael's destiny to save the world from Satan. He's the only one who can do it, but he won't hurt Dean." Sam glanced up to find that the boy was looking at him with an expression compounded equally of guilt and sympathy. "He really won't. When the Apocalypse is over, we'll have paradise on Earth, no more evil, no more pain. Everyone will be happy. You'll see. Dean will be okay. You'll see him again. You will."

"Let me guess, Catholic school upbringing?" Bobby said dryly. "I can smell the indoctrination from here."

Edward frowned. "It is not the place of man to question the ways of Heaven."

"I am not a man, Edward," Castiel said calmly, "and I do have questions about what Michael is planning."

The boy was still standing very close to the angel, seeming instinctively more comfortable with him than with the hunters. Now he drew away ever so slightly, his throat moving visibly as he swallowed. "You're… you're the angel who rebelled?"

"I am."

"You don't seem evil…"

"I do not believe that I am evil, Edward. I have not defied God, and though my faith has been severely tested, I still believe in him. It is only the others of my kind that I stand against. It was Heaven that began the Apocalypse. It was angels that began it, not because God commanded it, but because of their own vanity and folly. They were wrong to do this."

"But angels are supposed to be perfect," Edward blurted, sounding more alarmed than he yet had. "How could they be wrong?"

"No being is perfect."

"But – "

"Edward, you must tell us what you know of Michael's plans to confront Lucifer. If they meet on the field of battle, millions of your kind will die. Is that what you want?"

"I… I don't… I just want to go home."

"Edward, please, you must – "

"I want to go home. I don't know anything, and even if I did I couldn't tell you. Please, I just want to go home."  
"No way," Sam said. "Even if we didn't need what you can tell us, it wouldn't be safe to send you back. You're an empty vessel, kid. You're a major target for demons and monsters of all kinds. You'd be dead or captured inside of week."

Edward looked perplexed for a moment, but then he shook his head and rolled his eyes at Sam. "I'll be fine. We've done this before. Michael would never leave me unprotected."

"Done this before?" Bobby demanded. "You mean you've acted as Michael's vessel before and he sent you home?"

"Well, yeah. The only vessel who can hold him for more than a few days at a time is Dean. That's why he's been waiting for him. Anybody else would die. I've been Michael's vessel a few times, but he always sends me home again after a couple days. I've never actually seen him take another vessel before, though."

"And no demons have ever come after you?" Castiel asked. "Your house, it has some form of protection?"

"It's not a house. I live at D'Evereaux Hall."

"What's D'Evereaux Hall?" Sam asked, but Castiel merely raised his eyebrows, looking uncertain.

"D'Evereaux Hall for boys. It's a Catholic Orphanage in Jackson, Mississippi," Bobby said, sounding both stunned and enlightened. "It's run by the Diocese of Natchez, and it's produced more than its fair share of hunters over the last hundred and fifty years or so. You know what hunters are, kid?"

"Well, yeah. Father Gerow does special masses for fallen hunters. I attend sometimes along with a few of the other kids who know the truth, mostly kids whose parents got munched by something supernatural."

"Son of a bitch."

"The orphanage is really well protected," Edward said, looking earnestly up at Castiel, "and now that Michael is done with me, I need to go back. Father Gerow will be worried."

"Very well," Castiel said. "I will take you home."

"Cas!" Sam protested.

"We cannot hold this child prisoner, Sam. If his home is protected, then we must send him back. But Edward," Castiel said, turning to the boy, "I would ask you to search your conscience. If there is anything you can tell us, anything that may help to save lives, you must contact us right away."

"I'll… I'll think about it," Edward said reluctantly.

Bobby wheeled over to the boy and handed him a business card. "Call this number if got anything to tell us." Edward took the card. Before Sam could think of any further protests, both the angel and the boy had vanished. "Weird, huh?" Bobby noted bemusedly.

Sam bristled. "Weird? Dean is gone, and all you can say is weird?"

"I'm not talking about Dean, ya idjit. I'm talking about that kid."

"Him being a vessel?"

"Him being a Winchester," Bobby corrected, getting up out of the wheelchair and giving it a heartfelt kick

"What?" Sam yelled, jumping to his feet. "What the hell, Bobby?"

"Well, what'd you think he was, Sam? The kid is one of Michael's vessels, and that means he's part of Michael's bloodline, so regardless of what last name he goes by, he's got Winchester blood in him somewhere? He's a cousin of some kind or maybe Adam wasn't the only time that your daddy wasn't as careful as he should have been."

"Jesus Christ, Bobby! Why didn't you say something before they left?"

"Say what? Hey, kid, by the way, you're daddy ever take a paternity test? Be serious, boy."

"But… but… "

"Besides, if the kid lives at D'Evereaux Hall, he'll be safe enough until we can decide what to do about him."

Sam shook his head and sat back down. "It doesn't matter. What difference does it make who he is? Dean is gone. Michael's going to fight Lucifer and we're toast." He pulled Dean's letter out of his pocket, absently smoothing the paper on his knee. Tears welled back up, falling from his eyes and blurring the ink of Dean's last words to him.

. "Ah, kid, I'm sorry," Bobby muttered, coming over and sitting down by him. "I can't imagine how you must feel. Look, are we absolutely one hundred percent certain that it's really Michael who took Dean? Is there any chance that all of this was some kind of crossroads deal or – "

"It was Michael. He said yes," Sam said, wiping at the now damp patches on the paper. The tears began to come even faster, and Sam fought against the sobs that wanted to rip themselves out of his chest. Dean wouldn't want him to break down.

"What is that?" Bobby asked, gesturing at the paper. Sam snatched it away from the older hunter, clutching it protectively to his chest and crying harder than ever. He hung his head, unable to look at Bobby's pole-axed expression.

"Damn that self-sacrificing little twerp for putting us all through this," Bobby growled, putting his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"I drove him to this, Bobby. It's my fault. He gave up because of me."

"Sam, that's crazy. Dean may have decided that – "

"No, it's not. It's not crazy," Sam insisted. "You don't know what happened. You don't know what I did to… I broke his heart, Bobby. I broke his heart."

_*Author's Note: D'Evereaux Hall for boys was a real Catholic orphanage in Jackson, Mississippi. It was founded in the mid 1850s and stopped serving as a private orphanage in the 1960s. The Diocese of Natchez is still very active in the children's services. No insult was intended to the Catholic faith or the members of this diocese by Bobby's comment about "indoctrination," just keeping it in character, folks. As always, please review. My stats are on the glitch at the moment, so if you don't review, I will never know anyone read at all. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: My traffic stats are still not working (it has been about two weeks), so the only way I will know if anyone actually reads this is if they review or PM me. If you don't want to write up an actual review, you can always just drop a note to say hi. However, do remember that reviews are both love and food for the frustrated writer. So please share your thoughts. I am sure that this section is not where anyone thought this story was going, but bear with me and I think you'll love the results – if I do say so myself. Also, as a side note, Eric Kripke is evil and it's going to be a long summer which I plan to fill with much fic to help ease the passage of time for myself if no one else._

Previously On Too Dark To See

"I drove him to this, Bobby. It's my fault. He gave up because of me."

"Sam, that's crazy. Dean may have decided that – "

"No, it's not. It's not crazy," Sam insisted. "You don't know what happened. You don't know what I did to… I broke his heart, Bobby. I broke his heart."

Chapter 5

Sam tried to explain in the hours that followed, but Bobby simply couldn't or wouldn't understand. No matter how many times he explained about what he and Dean had seen in Heaven, how badly Dean had reacted to the knowledge that Sam's vision of Heaven was apparently a world without his family, how desperately wounded Dean had been by the worst events of his life being the best of Sam's, the god-awful confrontation with Zachariah and that revolting, bastardized version of their mother, Bobby just didn't get it. He couldn't see what Sam saw, that it had all been too much for Dean. Just too much. Sam was convinced that, ultimately, it was his betrayal, his dreams of a life without Dean that had finally driven his brother over the edge. "You didn't think of it that way," Dean had said, standing in the roadway where Sam had finally made his break from their father… and Dean. Whatever faith his brother had had in their renewed partnership had been destroyed in that moment. He'd broken Dean's heart, and now he was paying for it in spades.

Bobby said he was a fool and idjit.

Bobby said no one could be blamed for their own fantasies and dreams.

Bobby, for once, was dead wrong.

Sam had neither the inclination nor the time to try and convince him further, and the older hunter had distractions of his own. Bobby'd gotten a voicemail from Steve Emery, a hunter operating out of Watertown, just north of Sioux Falls. The man was in serious trouble. He believed he was being stalked by a demon, possibly more than one, but he had no experience with the creatures and was at a loss for how to defend himself. The guy was a newbie, practically a virgin when it came to hunting. He'd ganked three ghosts and a minor earth sprite that wouldn't even have qualified as a monster if it hadn't decided that it particularly liked the flavor of seeing-eye dogs, or mutts for the blind as Bobby so colorfully called them. As much as it irked Sam, as badly as he wanted to ignore anything that wasn't about finding a way to get Dean back, they had to help. Isolation was endemic in the hunter community, if you could even call such a scattered and unorganized group a community. No one knew how many potential hunters died for lack of help or training before anyone else even realized they were out there. And now, with the Apocalypse steamrolling its way toward Judgment Day, there were more monsters walking the world than ever before and more need for hunters to stick together and support their own.

Damn it. Like Roy and Walt had supported Sam and Dean, maybe? On a basic level, Sam could understand why they'd hunted him down, even why they'd killed him without letting him explain himself. He had started the Apocalypse, after all, but those idiot, hick Josie cousins had also killed Sam's brother. That… that was unforgivable. Completely ignoring the fact that Dean's only crime had been to ID the morons, if they hadn't killed Dean, he wouldn't have died, and if Dean hadn't died, he would never have gone to Heaven. He would never have seen the glimpses of Sam's own personal Heaven that had so greatly upset him, and he would never have said yes to Michael. Even if Sam had found Joshua on his own, even if he'd relayed the news that God wasn't going to help them any further, Sam still didn't believe that his big brother would have bent and spread 'em for the chief of the archangels. That was on Roy and Walt. The angels themselves might be at the top of Sam's current hit list, but the Josie boys weren't exactly at the bottom. Sam's stomach muscles actually quivered, his arms shaking, handing clenching as he fought to control the rage that coursed through him at the thought of them. Bobby wouldn't appreciate him losing control in the passenger seat of the Chevelle. Unsurprisingly, Bobby had insisted on driving his patchwork old Chevy. They still didn't have a new set of keys for the Impala and the older hunter was naturally anxious to test-drive the new legs that Dean and Michael had so thoughtfully provided for him.

The call from Emery had come in around sunset, but what with one thing and another, Bobby hadn't noticed it until just after midnight. Watertown was about a hundred miles up the I-29 from Sioux Falls, not even two hours away, but when so much time had already passed, Sam just hoped they wouldn't be too late. Calls to Emery's cell phone had gotten them repeated plays of his voicemail message, but nothing else. Not good. They'd geared up as fast as they could, transferred the needed supplies from Bobby's wheelchair accessible van to his Chevelle and hit the road. They made decent time on the interstate, though they stuck pretty close to the speed limit, figuring that a ticket – and the potential search of the car that came with it – would delay them a hell of a lot more than keeping it legal. As it was they rolled across the city limits at close to 2 a.m. The streets of Watertown were empty, not a human or monster stirring as far as Sam could tell. Of course, the town only held about 20,000 people, not a place you'd expect to have a hopping night life. That put most of the monsters that killed humans for food out of the running. Vampires, werewolves, rugarus: those sorts of monsters instinctively gravitated toward large population centers where their hunting would be less likely to be noticed or at least wouldn't garner as much attention, getting lost amid humanity's own violent depredations. Ghosts and poltergeists could happen anywhere, but Emery wouldn't have called in a panic about a mere ghost, according to Bobby. Demons though… demons actually seemed to favor small towns and tiny rural communities, places where they could cause the maximum havoc and disruption, places where they could destroy hundreds of closely interconnected lives. The small town support system was the demon's ideal playground. If one had been enjoying some playtime in Watertown, and if it had gotten Emery's scent, the new hunter would be seriously out of his depth.

Emery had a small two-story house across from Jefferson Elementary School, home of the Jaguars. Sam knew the school mascot because he'd lived in Watertown for a whole three weeks once while his father worked a job. Dean had missed out on that one, having stayed in Sioux Falls to help Bobby out with the salvage yard when the older hunter had broken a leg. Ironically, there'd been no monsters involved in that fiasco, just a flat tire and a bad jack. Sam had wanted to stay with Dean and Bobby, but John had insisted adamantly on keeping Sam with him, even though Sioux Falls was less than two hours away. Yet one more time when John had been obsessed with keeping Sam under his thumb. The fact that Sam now knew why his father had been so fixated on him, had been so afraid to let Sam out of his control, didn't make the memories sting any less. The fact that John had been right about Sam ultimately going darkside hurt like hell… especially now.

The porch light was on and there was some light visible in the second story windows, but there was no sign of movement. At a gesture from Bobby, Sam took his shotgun full of salt-rounds around the side of the house and headed for the rear entrance while the older hunter, similarly armed, made his way to the front door. They met inside, neither having found anything, and slowly made their way up the stairs together. The second floor was a shambles, and there was no sign of Emery anywhere. Doors were splintered on their hinges. The wall of the hallway was peppered with small holes, probably from a shotgun blast. Pictures had been knocked off their hooks, including one which showed a smiling, middle-aged man marrying an equally smiling, equally middle-aged woman. She looked vaguely familiar. "Crap," Sam hissed. "Does he have a wife?"

Bobby shook his head. "Dead," he hissed back. "It's why he became a hunter."

"I think I recognize her," Sam noted.

"Wouldn't surprise me. She was a teacher at that school across the street. It's how they met."

"Holy crap! She taught me math in the eighth grade."

"Small world," Bobby agreed with a laugh that didn't sound remotely amused. Squatting down, he pinched up some yellow power that had been half-hidden by the hallway runner. "Sulfur. Damn it." Bobby stood back up, and Sam could see the same look on his face that he knew must be on his own. Weary resignation. They _were_ too late. "Try him again," Bobby said half-heartedly.

Sam nodded and hit redial on Bobby's cell phone. He'd been the one making the calls in the car, and he still had the other man's phone in his pocket. After the first three rings, he was certain that it was going to go to voicemail again, but then, unexpectedly, it picked up. "Bobby! Oh, God! Bobby where – " The voice went to static as the signal cut in and out. " – need… too many – "

"Where are you?" Sam yelled into the phone. "Emery, where are you?" There was more static, a sound that might have been a scream, and then a single word amidst the white noise before the call cut out completely.

Sam hung up. "What'd he say?" Bobby demanded. "Sam, what's he say?"

"Zoo," Sam repeated, puzzled. Then he remembered. "The Bramble Park Zoo. He's there." That zoo was one of the few things that Watertown, SD was actually known for around the country, the joke being that the zoo had more inhabitants than the town did. They ran for the car and headed for the zoo at top speed. Now was the time to ignore speed limits. Emery was still alive, but they had to find him fast and –

"Bobby, isn't that place like fifty acres or something?"

"No. It's not that big, but we're going to have to hustle to find him."

Five minutes later they pulled into the zoo parking lot with a squeal of tires and a screech of brakes. Bobby stood watch while Sam made quick work of circumventing the alarm and picking the locks on one of the emergency exit gates. Because of its modern approach to animal conservatorship, the zoo had large, naturalistic enclosures – the kind that were better for the animals but made them harder for the visitors to see – and few of the traditional cages and pathways that most people would associate with a zoo. Finding someone, especially someone who was likely to be hiding, wasn't going to be easy. So, once they were inside, they made their way toward the center of the facility where signs said that "Live Animal Encounters" were held daily at the main stage. Hopefully, from that central location, they'd have a better chance of hearing Emery or whatever demon was after him. The moon shone so brightly that they barely needed their flashlights as they wended their way inward. Once they made it to the stage, Sam whipped the cell phone out and dialed again. He only hoped that the other hunter had his own phone on vibrate. If the call gave away the man's location, it could get the man killed.

The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. "Damn it, Emery, pick up," Sam muttered, as he turned in a slow circle, trying to watch all the pathways leading to the stage at once. Bobby was doing the same, keeping his shotgun in the ready position. The call went to voicemail and Sam tried dialing one more time. He wanted to avoid a grid by grid search of the grounds if he could. Their chances of finding Emery in time that way were –

Sam jerked back and dropped the phone as he felt something brush up against the leg of his jeans. Looking down he saw a rabbit, of all things, sitting by his feet. It gazed back up at him solemnly, it dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. Sam gaped at it. What the hell? The size of a small housecat, it looked like a standard brown domestic rabbit, yet it seemed totally unafraid of him. More than a touch weirded out by the rabbit's uncanny stillness, Sam took another step back. As he did, the animal launched itself at his leg, sinking its incisors straight through the denim of his pants and right into his calf. Sam screamed. Rabbit or not, it freaking hurt. Bobby whirled, bringing his gun to bear, but he hesitated when he saw that the creature attacking Sam was plastered to his leg.

"What in the hell is that, a rabid rabbit?" Bobby cried even as he kicked at the thing, but it only skittered around Sam's leg as if sliding around a pole and clamped its teeth onto the other side of his calf. Sam yowled again. There was no way he could shoot the furry little monstrosity without shooting himself as well. Going on instinct, he pulled his knife from the inner pocket of his jacket and stabbed at the creature. The blade sank into the rabbit like a butter knife into margarine. The animal stiffened, its body fluorescing in a pulse of light, its skeleton briefly visible beneath the skin, before it went still and fell to the ground, a limp, motionless pile of blood-matted fur. Only then did Sam realize just what knife he'd pulled. Ruby's knife. The demon-killing knife.

"What in the name of the Lord was that!" Bobby demanded.

Sam gawped at him, almost forgetting the pain in his own shock. "A demonic bunny, I think."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"A what?" Bobby said in a half-strangled shout, fighting to keep his voice down, though what difference it could possibly make after the way that Sam had squealed like a girl when the freaky little thing bit him, the youngest Winchester couldn't imagine.

"A demonic bunny," he repeated, staring at the blood thinning on the blade of the demon-killing knife, still clutched in his right hand.

"That has got to the most ridiculous, asinine, damn-fool thing I have ever heard," Bobby spluttered.

"It's not like the rabbit was my idea," Sam protested when the older hunter continued to stare at him as if he'd lost his mind. Reaching down, he scooped up his phone, which had cracked and shut itself off in the fall. "Bobby, try Emery on your – " His words ground to a halt as a howl sounded in the darkness beyond the walkway lights. It echoed eerily in the concavity that housed the main stage with its theater seating, and Sam felt the short hairs stand up on his arms. Bobby spun, once more bringing his shotgun to bear on the darkened pathways that led from the habitats to the theater. He searched the shadows even as Sam did, looking for some kind of threat. Sam shook himself, irritated with his own paranoia. It was a zoo, full of animals doing what animals did when no one was watching. There was no reason to assume that – another howl rent the air. A much closer howl, and Sam found himself backing down one of the rows, toward the actual stage, eager to have something more solid than empty air at his back.

Another howl quickly followed the first two, and Sam found himself swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. "Bobby?" he whispered as they stood back to back at the base of the stage. "Bobby, could that be a hellhound? Tell me that's not a hellhound."

"Can't be," Bobby replied instantly and with just a hint of self-reassurance. "We're not damned. We wouldn't be able to hear a hellhound. No, this has to be something…" He trailed off as a pair of glowing golden eyes appeared at the top of one of the aisles. "Something else," he finally finished, as the creature stepped into a pool of moonlight, momentarily revealing its shape and size, even if only in outline. It seemed to shimmer with silvery light where the moon touched its fur, from its strong shoulders and sloping back to its wide forehead and narrow muzzle.

"It's a wolf," Sam exclaimed. "It's just a wolf. Oh, thank God."

"I wouldn't be thanking my maker just yet, kid," Bobby said irritatedly as the wolf moved back into the shadows, only its lambent eyes revealing its slow, steady approach. It wended its way down the aisle before disappearing into the gap between two rows of seats. For a moment, they could hear the plastic seat bottoms banging against the seat backs, then there was just silence. For some reason – he couldn't imagine why – this made Sam even more alarmed than he'd been by the wolf's open and aggressive approach. For several long seconds, all was silent. Then, the howling started again, but now it seemed to come from several directions at once. The howls harmonized together in a way that Sam knew he would have found beautiful if he wasn't so busy finding it terrifying instead.

"Hey, Bobby, maybe we should move." Sam gestured toward the stairs that led up onto the stage with his head. Bobby nodded.

"Good idea." They inched along the front of the stage wall, never leaving their backs unprotected, until they got to the stairs. Sam continued to watch the rows and rows of seating as Bobby climbed the stairs, sweeping the stage with his shotgun and searching for additional threats. Once he was up, he called, "All clear," and Sam turned to follow him. He saw Bobby's eyes widen, heard Bobby shout, and then a force like a jackhammer hit him in the back and sent him sprawling on the uneven surface of the stairs.

"Stay down," Bobby yelled, and Sam curled into ball, covering his head with his hands. The shotgun roared just above him followed by a yelp that sounded like it was coming from just behind his feet. The yelp was immediately followed by a deep, bass growl, and Sam pulled his knees in even tighter, drawing his feet further up the stairs as a second shotgun blast sprayed him with hot, bloody back-splatter. "Come on," Bobby urged, and Sam scrambled to his feet, racing up the stairs after the older hunter. Once they'd gone a dozen yards and put their back up against the rear wall of the stage, their heads covered by the corrugated metal overhang, they turned in unison to look back at the wolf. It was already on its feet, blood dripping from a gaping wound in its chest, one side of its face entirely gone from one of the shotgun hits, and still it kept coming. Jaw hanging down, teeth bared, the wolf growled at them as it padded slowly toward them, glaring balefully with its one remaining golden eye.

"Jesus H. Christ," Bobby murmured fervently. Sam couldn't have agreed more. The wolf picked up speed, rapidly closing the gap between them. Working on pure instinct, knowing he couldn't let that animal's powerful jaws get too close to him or Bobby, Sam changed his grip on the demon-killing blade, pulled his arm back and then let it fly. The knife embedded itself effortlessly in the throat of the bounding wolf. The animal fluoresced and dropped like the dead weight it truly was, but its momentum carried it along and it slid to a stop almost at their feet. Without hesitation Sam darted forward and retrieved the blade as the howls of what he presumed was the rest of the wolf's pack drew closer. The dead wolf at his feet, once beautiful, was the size of a pony, with massive shoulders and teeth that could chew bone.

"Animals?" Bobby said, sounding remarkably pissed. "They're possessing animals now?"

"Looks like it," Sam said, feeling more than a little shell-shocked. "Bobby, just how many wolves are there in this zoo?" As he asked the question, Sam noticed more pairs of eyes winking into existence among the rows of theater seating.

"Don't know exactly, but Bramble's got over five hundred animals on site, one-hundred-thirty species, including grey wolves, jaguars, black bears, white Bengal tigers, snow leopards, and – as you so memorably found out – domestic rabbits."

"Crap."

"You can say that again. Too many of the critters in this place have sharp teeth."

Bobby had no sooner finished speaking than Sam heard the click of nails as something padded along the roof above them. "Crap," Sam repeated. "I hope to hell Emery can take care of himself for a while, because we are in trouble," Sam said.

"Oh, I can, Sam," a voice called from the top of one of the aisles, "but I do appreciate you rushing to my rescue this way."  
Sam and Bobby watched as Emery, or, presumably, the demon wearing Emery's meatsuit stepped into the pool of light cast by one of the street lamps. He looked unharmed, but it was impossible to be certain what kind of damage the body had taken. Regardless, his voice carried and he wasn't coming any closer, certainly not close enough for shotgun range, let alone within reach of Sam's knife. That wasn't the case, however, with the animals that were working their way slowly but inexorably toward the stage. Sam saw many of the creatures that Bobby had spoken of as well as a few large herbivores, even a buffalo. They were so screwed.

"Now, Sam, lets talk about your role in the Apocalypse, shall we?"

"Let's not," Sam called back, and the demon laughed. "Who are you anyway?" he demanded.

"You probably wouldn't recognize my name, and giving it to you wouldn't be very wise. So, for now, let's just stick with Emery. Okay? It's not like he's going to need the name again by the time I'm done with him."

"Bastard!"

"No need to get personal, Sammy," Emery chided, and Sam flinched hearing Dean's pet name for him on a demon's lips. "Now, back to business. You need to say yes to Lucifer. It's past time to quit playing around, pretending you have a choice. You belong to Lucifer, and it's just a matter of time before you admit it."

"Never happen," Sam growled.

"You might want to rethink that," Emery suggested. How he signaled them, Sam didn't know, but suddenly all the animals were howling, growling, roaring or trumpeting, generally making themselves heard. There was even something that sounded like a moo coming from the direction of the buffalo – and every last animal was moving closer. More feet sounded on the roof above and large cat with a tail like a bushy club jumped down from the overhang and onto the stage. It was no bigger than a small dog, but it eyed them hatefully, its eyes flashing between green and a demonic, smoky black.

"You won't kill me," Sam insisted. "Lucifer needs me alive."

"Maybe not," Emery agreed, "but I'll kill him." Emery jerked his chin in Bobby's direction. "And I guarantee you no one is going to be resurrecting his withered old ass."

"How about I shoved my withered old fist right up your – "

"Save it old man," Emery snarled, the facade of humanity dropping away as his face contorted with rage. "This isn't about you. We know Dean finally said yes to Michael, Sam. We know that Lucifer's nemesis is ready, everything is ready, except you! Accept your fate."

Sam glanced at Bobby as the animals continued to move closer. He saw nothing but steady support and the absolute conviction that Sam would do what was right in his friend's face. Pain, entirely emotional, blossomed in his chest. So soon after losing Dean… to lose Bobby, too. Shoulders slumping in the expectation of further grief, he turned back to the demon. "Never. I'll never say yes," he whispered, certain the acoustics of the stage would help his words reach their target.

"Yes, you will," Emery insisted.

"No. He won't."

Sam's spine snapped into alignment as Dean... no… Michael stepped into the light of the streetlamp. The demon whirled as Michael's hand reached for him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sam's spine snapped into alignment as Dean... no… Michael stepped into the light of the streetlamp. The demon whirled as Michael's hand reached for him. In the same instant, the animals charged, and Sam forgot everything except the need to stay alive and to keep Bobby that way as well. A blast from Bobby's shotgun knocked down the cat with the bottle-brush tail. A second shot cut it in half at the midsection even as it leapt for them. But while their rounds took out a few of the smaller animals, the rock salt barely even slowed the larger ones down, knocking them back, but never far enough. With their backs shoved up against the sturdiest looking wall they could find, Sam and Bobby fired into the onslaught, staying just barely out of range of the raking claws and gnashing teeth. The noise was deafening, and Sam's ears rang from the combination of animal cries and weapons discharging in that echoic space.

Then one of the Bengal tigers, impossibly beautiful in the moonlight, broke past Bobby's guard and dragged a single, dagger-sharp claw down the leg of Sam's jeans, tearing open denim, flesh and muscle with equal ease. Sam gasped, bringing up the demon-killing blade in desperate attempt to defend himself even as he fell. Pain dropped over him like a curtain, muffling the sights and sounds of the ongoing battle, blocking out his ability to think, let alone act. For an endless time he floated on wave after of wave of pain, buffeted about like a piece of driftwood. His heartbeat throbbed in his shredded leg, pounded in his chest and drummed behind his eyes. Everything was pain and only pain. When the curtain finally lifted – slowly and jerkily, like an ancient television losing its vertical hold – Sam found Bobby standing over him, standing _literally _over him, one booted foot planted to each side of Sam's hips. Blood dripped off the older hunter, spattering Sam with gore. They were losing… dying.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, throwing back his head. His throat felt raw with the effort to reach a brother who was most likely lost to him forever, yet Sam could hardly hear himself over the cacophony of the demon herd. _Please_, he thought. _Please._

Then, unbelievably, Dean was there. No, not Dean, Michael. The archangel vaulted onto the stage, landing beside Sam in a fighting crouch. He glowed fiercely with a barely restrained light. It was as if his grace were trying to escape the confines of the mortal body it now inhabited. It blazed forth from his eyes, his ears, his nose, even the quicks of his fingernails. Only twice before had Sam seen an angel in such a state, both times when the demon Alastair had tried to exorcise Castiel. This didn't seem quite the same somehow, and yet Sam could not help but wonder if the archangel was also dying, if Emery had had actually managed to injure him somehow. And if he died, then Dean would…

Sam grabbed hold of the sleeve of Dean's coat, desperate for some final contact before death took them both. The archangel leaned close, his breath warm against Sam's ear as he spoke. "Shut your eyes," he said. The voice was steady, soft and even, but Sam did not mistake the instruction for anything other than a command. Reaching up, he latched onto the tail of Bobby's coat and yanked hard. The older hunter collapsed to his knees, landing half on top of Sam, still clutching his sawed-off shotgun. "Bobby, cover your eyes!"

"What?" Bobby barked back, half-turning to him, but still primarily focused on the charging horde.

"Cover your – " Sam began. _Forget it_, he thought, and reaching as high as he could, he latched onto the neck of Bobby's coat and pulled the other man off balance. Bobby landed on him with a grunt, and Sam yelled into his ear, "Cover you damn eyes!" Whether it was the urgency in Sam's tone or some survival instinct of his own taking over, after one startled look at the archangel, the older hunter did as he was told, shutting his eyes and pressing his face against Sam's shoulder. Sam closed his eyes and turned his own face into the curve of Bobby's neck for a moment, his hand still clutching at Dean's coat. It was then, as he finally closed his eyes, that the world heaved once beneath them and exploded like sun going nova. Light swelled around them as if the sun had come into orbit around the zoo, as if it had risen at night, searing away the lesser stars of distant worlds. The air wasn't just full of light, it _became_ light, burning so brightly that Sam swore he could see even through his tightly closed eyelids. And what he saw was nothing short of astounding.

Michael, still stooping beside him, raised one hand high above him, palm facing outward. He was speaking but Sam could not hear clearly what he was saying, only traces of what sounded like Enochian… angry Enochian. All the light radiating from the archangel's body seemed to coalesce in that single raised hand, a store of energy that mocked the human achievements of the CERN Hadron Collider and the nuclear bomb. Then Michael slammed the hand down, slapping the palm flat against the stage. The world heaved and bucked beneath them as a wall of light shot outward in every direction. The animals close to Sam and Bobby simply vanished. Those further away were blown backwards as they were struck by the wavefront, they fell and did not rise again. Those furthest away had time enough to turn, a few even raised their heads to the sky as if preparing to smoke out and abandon both their meatsuits and the battle, but none actually had time enough to escape. They fell like demonic dominos.

Opening his dazzled eyes, Sam rolled away from Bobby and raised himself up onto his elbows. Everywhere he looked, devastation met his gaze. The stage looked like the surface of a small pond, flash frozen in mid-ripple with Sam, Bobby and Michael at the epicenter of destruction. Beyond the stage, for as far as he could see with the illumination of the few still functioning street lamps, the rest of the zoo was the same. The animals were the worst though. Those within a dozen yards of Sam had been reduced to blackened outlines on the ground and here or there a small pile of dust. Beyond those he saw bulky forms, fallen and still smoldering, but the worst… the worst were those that were still moving. Some were burned, others had clearly been shot. They stumbled and tottered about, many mewling and whimpering in pain as clouds of what looked like cinders rose from their open mouths. These were not living demons escaping. Oh no. These were the rotted corpses of demons, blowing away on the wind, leaving behind the shattered shells of their meatsuits. Sam would never before have believed that such a thing was possible. It seemed that an archangel was, indeed, a force to be reckoned with. As he continued to watch, his own pain a steady rush behind his ears, a few of the animals staggered to their feet and fled into the darkness beyond the stage. Of Emery, the hunter they'd come to save, he could see no sign. Sam's stomach turned over.

"Bo – " he began, before his stomach let go without warning. When the heaving stopped, he rolled onto his back, gasping for air, fighting blood loss and pain to stay conscious.

"Kid, are you okay?" Bobby demanded, now kneeling beside him.

Sam tried to speak, tried simply to nod, but the world seemed to be undulating again and his thoughts swayed with it. _Crap. I'm still –_

Then, with an abruptness that was almost as debilitating as the injury itself had been, Sam's pain was gone. Opening his eyes, he looked up and saw Michael leaning over him. Michael, wearing Dean's face. The angel was no longer glowing, which was good because at that close a range, Sam was certain that the light show would have left him blind. The archangel had one hand pressed to Sam's chest and the other was reaching for his face. Sam felt his eyes cross as the two outstretched fingers moved in and tapped him lightly on the forehead. Then he felt nothing at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When Sam awoke, he was lying on a narrow cot that was a good two feet too short for him. A short, narrow, _dusty_ cot. He sat up with a sneeze, swinging his long legs off the cot, marveling at the renewed ease of movement. His shredded thigh was completely whole once more, and not only his thigh, but the material covering it as well. His clothing was utterly devoid of rips, cuts and stains, looking newer than he ever remembered it looking before, even on the day he bought it. Turning his hands over and examining them minutely, Sam saw no blood, no sticky salt residue, no bruises, swelling or damage of any kind. Turning his gaze from himself to his surroundings, Sam looked around him bafflement. The room he was in was small and very bare. In fact there was nothing in it except for the cot on which Sam now sat and a filth encrusted, moth-eaten rug on the scarred wooden floor. The room's two windows were boarded up and the door was standing slightly ajar. There was no one else in sight. Patting rapidly at his clothing, Sam was relieved to discover that he was still armed, his pistol snugly seated in his rear holster and the demon-killing blade sitting in his inside jacket pocket where he always kept it.

Rising to his feet, Sam pulled the pistol, checked that it was still loaded and then slowly eased open the door. The next room was far less empty and far more dirty. Broken and tattered furniture, dead potted plants and smoke-stained paintings was scattered around what had obviously been a pleasant living room half-a-century ago. Like the small room in which he'd awoken, the windows in this room were boarded up with one exception. The sun shone dimly through a grimy window that overlooked some kind of front porch, and before the window stood Sam's brother. His back was ramrod straight and his face was expressionless as he gazed out at the fields that surrounded the house. Like Sam, he appeared to be unhurt.

"Dean?" Sam called hopefully, holstering the pistol and walking over to stand by his brother's shoulder.

"You know better than that, Sam," Michael replied without turning.

Icy fingers of disappointment spread through Sam's stomach, washing away the warm of hope he'd felt so briefly. And yet… Dean was here, beside him. He hadn't been completely abandoned. That had to mean something. "Where are we?"

"This is a place of sanctuary."

Sam looked around at the ruin of the dilapidated old building. Somehow, from the things Dean had told him Zachariah's green room, he would have expected an angel's sanctuary to be grander… and less dirty.

He turned back to find the archangel watching him. Something of what he was thinking must have shown in his face because Michael rolled in his eyes in a remarkably Dean-like manner and said, "This is not an angelic retreat but a human sanctuary, one that has been in your family for many generations."

"What?" Sam replied, startled. "My family?"

Michael said nothing, merely turning back to the window and looking out at the sunlight falling on the tall field grasses. Sam had a dozen questions, but Michael's demeanor was more than a little off-putting, and the "family" retreat was the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Michael?" he ventured nervously.

"Yes, Sam?"

"Thank you, for helping us, for helping me and Bobby."

"You are welcome," the angel replied, inclining his head ever so slightly. An uncomfortable silence reigned for several minutes, and Sam found himself fidgeting anxiously, wondering what came next. Michael certainly seemed in no hurry to explain himself.

"Why did you help us?" he asked before he could lose his nerve entirely.

Michael said nothing, but he seemed, if anything, to withdraw even further into himself.

"Where's Bobby?" Sam demanded, quickly growing frustrated. "Did you bring him here too?"

"No."

"You just left him there?" Sam said sharply.

"Robert Singer is an able and experienced hunter, and a good one to have lived so long after hearing the call. He can handle himself. There was no reason to bring him with us," the angel explained.

"But the demons! If some of the ones that got away come back with reinforcements – "

"None survived," Michael interjected, showing the first real sign of impatience that Sam had seen from him.

"You killed all those demons? Just like that?"

"It was not difficult," Michael said, sounding irritatingly smug, but not at all like Dean. Dean would probably have said something like, "What, Francis? Did you think it would be hard or something?" Sam could practically hear him saying it, and there Michael stood, smug and angelic and in complete control of Dean's body. It was unbearable, but Sam didn't seem to have much choice. He had to bear. He had to keep Michael talking, had to keep him near so that Dean was near, until he figured out some way to fix this. He _had_ to fix this.

"What about Emery? When you killed the demons, did he die too?"

"Who?"

"The hunter who was possessed. The man we went there to help. What happened to him?"

"He is dead."

"Damn it! Couldn't you have – "

"I had to destroy him, Sam. He would have tried to stop me from reaching you and Bobby. He died before I unleashed my power on his lesser companions, but it was a blessed release, I promise you. Emery's body was already damaged beyond recovery. His only options were death or to remain as a demon's puppet, tormented and helpless, until it tired of him."

Sam shuddered. He remembered so little of his own time as a meatsuit, but the horror of waking up from it, of realizing what he'd done to another hunter, what he'd almost done to Jo, that he'd _shot _Dean. And now Dean – no. No. Don't think about it. Just don't. Sam covered his eyes with his hands for a moment, fighting to collect his scattered thoughts, to regain control over his whirling emotions.

To his surprise, it was Michael who broke the silence this time. "Did you know him?" the angel ask curiously.

"Emery?" Sam asked, taken aback. "No. I didn't know him, but he was a fellow hunter, and his wife was one of my grade school teachers. She died, I guess."

"A hunter and a teacher, both honorable professions. If they were people of faith as well as decency, then I am certain they found salvation in my father. Do not mourn for them in Heaven, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned away, both surprised and annoyed to hear such traditional platitudes coming from an archangel of all people. "So why'd you bring me here, but not bring Bobby? You said there was no reason to bring Bobby, but if all the demons were dead, there was no reason to bring me either. So what gives?"

"You require watching over," Michael grumbled, giving Sam a look that reminded him eerily of both Dean and their father.

"I require what?"

The angel sighed. "You seem incapable of protecting yourself when left to your own devices, and how I am to save the world if you cannot stay out of trouble for five minutes together, I do not know."

"What does my staying out of trouble have to do with you saving the world?" Sam demanded incredulously.

"The distraction is simply too great. I can't afford to have my attention split so completely."

"The distraction? What distraction? My being in danger? You're protecting me?"

Michael grimaced then nodded reluctantly. "I am."

"But why? Why would you do that? I'm supposed to be Lucifer's vessel. I'm an abomination!" Sam shouted, throwing his arms into the air and beginning to pace before the angel. "Shouldn't you just kill me?"

"If I wished you dead, or even believed that your death would serve our cause, I would simply have allowed Anna to kill you. I would certainly not have bothered to save you."

"You only saved me because you had to save Dean anyway, and you knew it would piss him off if you let me die," Sam countered accusingly.

"Dean was never in any danger from Anna."

"She was going to kill our mother while she was pregnant with Dean!"

"No. Anna intended only to kill John. She would have left John dead and Mary and Dean alive. You would never have been born and Dean would have grown up without a father."

Sam gaped at the archangel. "Why would she – "

"Can you truly think of no reason that Anna might spare Dean?" Michael interjected. "I was lead to believe you were intelligent, even if you were far too easily led by second-rate demon whore."

"Fine. So she liked him, maybe even loved him, but she was an angel and they aren't supposed to let their feelings influence their actions."

"Anna was always easily swayed by her emotions. It is why she fell in the first place."

Sam shook his head impatiently. "That still doesn't explain why you saved me. My death would serve your cause. So why save me?"

"That depends upon _which_ cause you believe that I serve."

"You're evading," Sam growled.

"Perhaps," Michael agreed with a faint smile.

"Why are you protecting me? Tell me the truth."

"I saved you then because whether you lived or died made no difference to me at all, and I knew that Dean would be less cooperative if you were dead. I saved you last night because I promised your brother that no harm would come to you when he agreed to be my vessel. Your safety was, is, and always will be his primary concern."

Sam reeled back as if Michael had struck him. Dean. His brother had made the archangel promise to protect him even when he thought… when he believed that Sam didn't give a damn about him anymore. It was just so typically Dean, so damn self-sacrificing and –

"Let me talk to him!" Sam blurted. "Please, you've got to let me talk to him, even if it's just for a moment."

"Sam – " Michael began instantly, and Sam could already hear the denial in his voice.

"No! Don't you say no! Just hear me out! I know that vessels aren't very aware most of the time, and I know he can't hear me now, but, please, I've got to talk with him. Please!

Michael turned his back on Sam, returning to his contemplation of the sun on the field outside.

"Michael, please, I'm begging you," Sam said desperately, uncaring of the tears that ran down his cheeks and fell onto the dusty floor. Nothing mattered except letting Dean know how wrong he'd been, how much Sam loved him. "Please, Michael, there must be something you can do, some way I can talk to him. You could… you could leave him, just for a moment? Couldn't you? Now that he's said yes, you can come back any time you want, right? You don't need him to say yes again. So, please. Just give me one day, one hour, ten minutes. Anything! Please!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The archangel sighed and shook his head. "Vessels are not yo-yos, Sam. We do not come and go at a whim. It would not be safe for either of us."

"Michael, I… I'll do anything. I'll cooperate with your paranoia. I'll let you protect me to your heart's content if you just let me talk to Dean. Please, for both our sakes. I'll…" Sam's pleading broke off abruptly as his rear jeans pocket began to vibrate. "Damn it!" Sam cursed, reaching for the phone. For a moment he thought it was Bobby's cellphone, but he'd dropped that one when the possessed rabbit attacked him in the zoo. Expecting it to be a worried Bobby as he flipped his own phone open, Sam was totally unprepared for the frantic angel who began yelling in his ear almost immediately.

"Sam, where are you?"

"Cas, relax. I'm okay."

"Bobby said you vanished."

"Is he hurt? Did he make it out of Bramble all right?"

"Bobby is fine. I have already healed his injuries, and he is on his way back to the salvage yard. Where are you?"

"I'm with Michael."

"Michael… where has he taken you, Sam?" the angel demanded. "I will come for you."

Sam's eyes widened and he looked up at Michael who was not even trying to hide the fact that he was listening with interest to Sam's side of the conversation. Heck, given angelic superhearing, he was probably listening to both sides. "I'm, uh, not so sure that's a good idea," Sam whispered instinctively, turning his back on the archangel. "I'm not sure how thrilled he'd be to see you, and – " _and I was starting to get somewhere, damn it!_

"Sam, he is not Dean! It is not safe."

"I don't think he's going to hurt me, Cas."

"Michael cares only about defeating Lucifer. You are not safe with – " The agitated voice broke off in a burst of static more in keeping with an old landline than a cellphone. Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. Full bars. "Cas?" he said, raising his voice slightly. "Cas, can you hear me?" For just a moment, Sam though he heard a faint reply through the static, but then the call dropped completely. The screen still showed full bars, and there was no "call dropped" message at all. Sam tried to call Cas back, worried that the angel would panic, but he couldn't get through no matter how clear his phone insisted that the signal was. Realization dawned, and Sam turned on Michael with something close to astonishment.

"Are you doing this?" he demanded, outraged once more by the archangel's highhandedness.

"I am."

"What the hell? I'm sure Cas isn't exactly your favorite angel, but why – "

"If Castiel were to challenge me, I would have to fight him. It is not a confrontation he could win. Would you want that?"

"He wasn't going to challenge you!"

"If he tried to take you from my protection, that would constitute a challenge, Sam," Michael explained with an air of patience so patronizing that it made the hunter's teeth ache. "Despite what you may believe you know, you understand nothing of the ways of angels."

"He's my friend, Michael. He's Dean's friend. Please, don't hurt Castiel."

"You make my point for me, Sam. You have no idea just how damning that is for an angel, how far he has fallen to have a human _friend._"

"He is not a fallen angel," Sam corrected hurriedly. "You don't need to – "

"Calm yourself, boy. I have promised Dean that Castiel, too, will be safe. Unless he openly challenges me, I will not harm him."

Sam blinked at the angel slowly as one knot in stomach unraveled – Michael didn't plan to kill Cas – and a new one formed – Dean had made some sort of crossroads-style deal with the archangel that was currently riding his ass. Sam shuddered. "Just what all _did_ you promise Dean?"

"That is between your brother and me."

"It involves me," Sam insisted. "Dean is_ my_ brother. Michael, please, let me talk to him," Sam pled, his eyes tearing up once more. "If you ever loved any of your brothers, then you have to know how I feel about Dean."

"I know how Dean feels about you, and that is enough for my purposes."

Sam sat down on the windowsill. He put his face in his hands, unable to look at the angel riding his brother's body for one moment longer.

Dean flinched, wishing he could cover his ears, wishing he could at least close his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch Sammy crying. He couldn't stand it. He'd never been able to bear watching the kid cry, and the fact that Sam was an adult now didn't make a damn bit of difference. Dean would give just about anything to shut it all out, but he had no power whatsoever over his own body, now Michael's body.

_"__Do you not wish him to know that you can hear him?"_ Michael asked in what Dean recognized as a carefully neutral tone.

Dean cringed, shying away from his guilt at Sammy's tears. "_Don't you fucking tell him! It would just make things worse for him if he knew I was aware in here. Let him think that everything is normal," _Dean said bitterly. He could feel Michael's displeasure with both the answer and attitude, but he was damned if he cared what the archangel thought or felt. He just wished he knew why he seemed to be privy to what the chief dick with wings felt at all. Nothing about this was normal, that much was clear.

Dean would have sworn that the archangel was as surprised as he was the first time Dean began to see and hear what was going on around them. At first, once the searing sensation of Michael's initial possession had passed – a feeling as if he'd been poured full of liquid fire, burning him from the inside out – he'd been aware of nothing, not even himself. How long that lasted, Dean could not say. But then, to his amazement, the world had gradually come back into focus. For a while it was just glimpses, bursts of color. Then sounds drifted down into his darkness, sounds and smells and the feeling of touch returned. Confused, Dean had begun to feel around the edges of his confinement, seeking a way out. He found none, but the world was still out there. It was finding its way into his angelic prison… and the world wasn't the only thing that intruded on his solitude.

_"Dean?"_ Michael has ventured in evident surprise one morning. Dean knew it was morning because he could see the sun rising over the ocean. He could feel the salt wind stinging his cheeks, and though he could not make himself look down, he knew that he was literally standing on water somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

_"Showing off?" _Dean has asked wryly. _"I thought walking on water was more in your boss's line."_

Michael's astonishment had more than matched Dean's. Dean knew from his conversations with Jimmy Novak that vessels were aware of very little that happened to them when they were possessed. Michael knew the same from personal experience. Neither of them could explain Dean's self-awareness, let alone his ability to "speak" to the angel wearing him like a suit. Nor did Dean feel the overwhelming, raw power of being tethered to an angel as Jimmy had described it. Shouldn't housing an archangel be even worse? Cas had said it would be. He'd said that Michael would overwhelm him in every way and leave him less than a drooling wreck when he was done. Maybe the last part would prove true, at least for as long as it took Michael to follow through on his promise to destroy Dean's soul. But so far… so far the rest seemed a little exaggerated. Sure, Dean had no control. Sure, he was no more than Michael's puppet, but he was aware, he was awake and he was paying attention, even though he'd rather sleep his way through the whole damn thing. If Michael had to destroy part of the world to save the rest, did Dean have to witness it? Did he have to witness Sam's knee jerk grief? He knew Sam would be happier without him in the end, that the kid would be better off when all of this was over, but that didn't mean Dean wanted to watch him going through all of it. Why couldn't he just check out and take the knowledge that Sam would be ultimately better off down with him into oblivion. Why did everything in his life have to be so completely fucking _not normal?_

_"Well, Dean,"_ Michael repeated blandly, _"he seems quite sincere in his desire to talk with you. Should I relay a message?"_

_"Leave him alone._ _Leave me alone_

Sam started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Michael looking back down at him with a stony expression. Sam gulped. "You should get some rest, Sam."

"But… " Sam protested weakly, though he was uncertain exactly what or why he was protesting. "But Lucifer is still out there, and …"

"I will not allow Lucifer to take you as a vessel, Sam. Your part in this is over. Your brother's and mine are just beginning. Now, rest."

"Here?" Sam said disbelievingly, gesturing around at the rundown old house.

"Why not?" Michael asked, seeming genuinely puzzled. "I told you that this place belongs to your family. No one will disturb us here."

"Yeah, but look at this place. How am I going to live here?"

"You have stayed in worse," the archangel snapped, sounding thoroughly miffed.

"Take me to Bobby's," Sam suggested, standing up. It felt unbelievably strange to tower over an archangel as he did, but then there were still days when it seems impossibly strange to tower over his big brother as he did. "If you can keep me safe here, you can keep me even safer there. Bobby's a fellow hunter. His house is stocked to survive Armageddon, and don't think the irony of that is lost on me."

"So?"

"So, there's no way I can stay here. I'm guessing there's not even running water."

Michael bristled, reminding Sam startlingly of a defensive and offended Jo Harvelle. "I can provide whatever you need."

"I'm sure you can," Sam agreed hastily, "but won't that just be another kind of distraction? If you have to mojo up a tissue every time I need to blow my nose, that's going to put kind of a crimp in the whole saving the world thing?" Sam smiled in his most earnest and imploring manner, hoping that – for once – he could produce those puppy dog eyes on demand, the ones that Dean was always going on about, though it seemed unlikely that they'd have any effect at all on an archangel whatsoever.

"_He has a point Michael," _Dean advised as calmly as he could. _"Admit it. Take him to Bobby's."_

"I do not have _mojo,_" Michael grumbled, ignoring Dean's advice and willfully ignoring Dean as he turned his back on Sam and gazed once more out the window.

"That's what Cas calls it," Dean heard Sam say.

Michael spun in place, making Dean feel almost dizzy for moment, his field of view changed so quickly. Sam took a step back, looking terrified, and it was no wonder. Dean could feel the anger radiating off the archangel. "Castiel had been contaminated by excessive interaction with humans. Do not compare me to him."

"_Contaminated!" _Dean growled._ "Fuck you very much you unbelievable dick!_" He didn't know how loud he sounded to Michael, but inside his own head, to his mental ears, he sounded deafening. "_Quit being such a prick and take Sam home!"_

"_I do not take your orders, Dean," _Michael growled back.

"_Then take the advice of someone who knows Sam, Bobby _and_ Castiel a hell of a lot better than you do!"_ Dean said desperately, wrung by the worried look on Sam's flushed face, the fear in bloodshot eyes. _"Take Sam back to Bobby. Don't make him stay here with us in this crappy dump. This is hard enough for him. Please,"_ Dean begged before retreating as far back into his own mind as he could and shutting out the world.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When Dean next woke, Michael was still standing motionless and looking out the window, but the view was now a familiar one. In the distance, a wall of crushed cars rose in stacks four vehicles high. Assorted other junkers were scattered across the landscape, intermixed with repair equipment, tools, cars and storage sheds. In the driveway, between the chaotic-looking storage yard and the house, Bobby was standing with his hands in his pockets, chatting with a tow truck driver as the man lowered a battered Honda Civic off his rig. Dean thought he recognized the driver, and Bobby certainly seemed at ease with him. The older hunter looked, in fact, as if nothing in the world was wrong, as if he didn't have an archangel standing in his living room. God, maybe he didn't know. Dean shuddered internally, disconcerted when the emotion did not transmit itself from his mind to his body. No goosebumps rose on his skin, no shivers ran down his spine. His breathing never changed and there was no response at all from Michael. Dean felt strangely alone, staring out at the sunny scene of daily life going on without him. He wished he knew if there was anyone else in the house, if he and Bobby were the only ones around. No sooner had he thought it, than Dean was suddenly aware of voices coming from somewhere behind him, at a guess, the kitchen.

"This is reckless," Castiel complained. "It is an unnecessary risk." _Castiel!_ Dean felt both relieved to know that the only angel he truly trusted was nearby, and terrified to know that the renegade angel was so near Michael.

"It's not that big a deal, Cas," Sam said placatingly. "You need to calm down." _Sam! _As with Castiel, Dean felt himself conflicted. They were all here, together, and wished them a million miles away. Better, he wished Michael a million miles away.

"To allow a stranger so near, now of all times," Castiel ground out, his voice sounding even more like granite than usual.

"Gary's not a stranger, Cas. He brings Bobby wrecks all the time."

"He is a civilian and a distraction. It is unwise to allow anyone so near to…" Castiel trailed to a halt, as if he either couldn't or wouldn't finish the thought aloud.

"To what? To our home?" Sam ventured. "To our base of operations?"

"To Michael," the angel replied slowly. "We should allow no one near Michael." The angel sounded angry, as if rage were boiling just beneath the surface of his words. Dean desperately wished he could turn around. He'd give a lot to see Castiel's face at this moment. Sam's face… hell, he didn't need to see Sam with his eyes to know the expression on his face. He knew that kid better than he knew himself, but Cas was still a mystery in so many ways. He snorted internally. Most of them, really.

"Maybe you're right," Sam said, still placating, "but it would be awfully suspicious if Bobby just suddenly stopped accepting deliveries and customers, not to mention what it would do to his business."

"His business? Sam, we are experiencing what may be the end of the world as you know it, as everyone knows it."

Cue eye roll, please, Dean thought wryly. "Yeah, well, if the world doesn't end, Bobby's still going to need a way to eat," Sam said. "I don't think it's that big a deal."

"It is dangerous!"

"You keep saying that, but you don't say how."

"Is it not obvious? The demons already had a 'hit' out on Dean. Now that he has said yes to Michael, they will be more determined than ever to capture you and kill him if possible. Anyone who comes near us is suspect."

"Surely Michael can protect Dean from a few ordinary demons. He certainly killed the crap out of the ones in Bramble."

"Yes, and he may kill again."

"A demon, sure," Sam said, beginning to sound exasperated with Castiel's fears. "But some random guy? Cas, Michael's been standing there like a statue for three days. He hasn't so much as shifted. Do you really think he's going to just suddenly run outside and smite some poor dude for dropping by?"

Three days? They'd been here for three days? Dean couldn't fathom it. Time was vanishing on him.

"He is an archangel, Sam. They are creatures of violence and bloodshed. It is all they know. There will be only one response to anything he perceives as a threat, and that is death!" Dean heard a sound like wings and then a muttered, "Fabulous," from Sam. A moment later, Sam appeared outside, finally where Dean could see him. The tow truck driver had finished unhooking the Honda, and had climbed back into his rig and driven away. As Dean watched, Sam helped Bobby hook one of his tractors to the front of the car so it could be dragged to a better spot in the yard.

Sam looked okay, far calmer than Dean would have expected based on the kid's near hysteria the last time Dean had gotten a good look at him. Three days. He and Michael had been at Bobby's place for three days, long enough for Sam to calm down and for Castiel to apparently start losing his cool. What the heck had Michael been doing for three solid days just standing here? At the moment, Dean couldn't feel the angel's presence at all. It was only his own immobility and paralysis that told him that Michael was still there and in control. Steeling himself for whatever might come and gritting his mental teeth, Dean said, _"M - Michael?"_

His voice cracked! His freaking mental voice cracked. He didn't even know that was possible, but it was damn well humilia—

_"Yes, Dean?"_ Abruptly, Michael was there. Dean could feel his presence, that strange sensation that his body was holding in something far too large for it, and yet he felt none of the pain, none of the overwhelming, crushing weight that Jimmy had described. Wasn't he supposed to feel over-awed or something?

_"Uh… hi,"_ Dean stumbled, suddenly uncertain what to say.

_"You wanted something?" _

_"Yeah, I – what are you doing?"_ he asked, wondering if the archangel would actually answer.

_"I am seeking revelation."_

_"Okay."_ When Michael said nothing more, Dean went one. _"So this seeking revelation thing looks an awful lot like standing around doing nothing."_

_"What it looks like is immaterial."_

_"But you're not _doing_ anything."_

_"I told you. I am seeking revelation."_

_"It still looks like you're just standing here doing nothing," _Dean maintained.

Michael sighed so deeply that Dean actually felt his chest move. An instant later, there was a concerned Sammy standing in his peripheral vision. "What's wrong?" he demanded anxiously.

"Nothing," Michael replied with an air of great patience. "Leave me to my work."

"But… you're not doing anything," Sam said slowly.

When he felt his entire body tense, Dean hurriedly said,_ "Don't hurt him."_

"I was not – " _" – going to hurt him,"_ Michael growled. "Regardless of how it looks, I am busy, Sam. Leave me be." Wide-eyed and looking a little peevish, Sammy walked away.

_"You didn't have to yell at him. It's not his fault that you look like you're not – "_

_"Revelation is not something one does,"_ Michael interjected, clearly fed up with Dean's attitude. _"It is something one waits for, respectfully and _patiently._"_

_"Waits for from who?"_

_"Whom."_

_"What?"_

_"Waits for from whom. 'Who' is incorrect."_

_"Don't go all Sammy on me,"_ Dean snapped, _"and quit avoiding the question."_

_"I am not avoiding the question,"_ Michael groused. _"I merely wish to return to my work."_

_"Well, the sooner you explain, the sooner I'll leave you alone."_

Michael was silent for a time, though Dean could feel that his jaw was clenched with the archangel's annoyance. _"Very well. I suppose there is no harm in your knowing what you will never be able to tell another."_

_"Gee, thanks a lot."_

Ignoring the sarcasm, or just not getting it, Michael said, _"You are welcome. Seeking revelation is a form of prayer. Specifically, it is a request for guidance from a higher power."_

_"You mean God?"_ Dean asked, actually interested now, and not just bored and looking to irk the guy riding his ass.

_"Ideally, yes. The guidance doesn't always come from our Father, however. In fact, in recent centuries, he has b_ee_n entirely silent, leaving and my brothers and me to fend for ourselves. However, guidance does not always, or even primarily, come from God. Often it may come from other angels, those higher up the 'food chain.'"_

_"So, let me get this straight, Random Angel X prays, asks for guidance or whatever, and another angel answers and tells him what to do?"_

_"That is essentially correct. Usually, the responding angel will be the seeker's immediate superior or near to it. When your Castiel still served in his garrison, any requests for revelation would most likely have been answered by Anael._

_"You mean Anna?" _Dean blurted, surprised and bothered by the idea though he knew that Anna had theoretically outranked Cas. At least, she had according to Anna.

_"I see you are as disturbed by this as I am. I admit, I have wondered if her influence might not be partially responsible for his ultimate rebellion against Heaven."_

_"Not likely," _Dean scoffed. _"He never trusted her, and he rebelled because it was the right thing to do!" _

_"You still maintain that, even after agreeing to be my vessel?" _Michael asked curiously, seeming almost puzzled by his vehemence.

_"Well, if you idiots hadn't jumpstarted Judgment Day, I would never have had to say yes. So, yeah, Cas did the right thing and the rest of you are dicks with wings."_

_"Angels have no gender, Dean. We – "_

_"Tangent much? Stay on topic."_

_"Are you always this irritating?"_

_"Pretty much." _Dean agreed. Michael sighed audibly, the rumble in his chest sounding almost like a growl. _"Hey, dude, keep it quiet or we'll have Sammy back over here demanding to know what's wrong."_

_"What is wrong is that you are defending the choices of an angel who is acting entirely on his own judgment. Since he rebelled and was cut off from Heaven, Castiel has been unwilling to seek revelation from his superiors. Since our Father is no longer answering, that means that Castiel is operating in this world solely on the basis of free will."_

_"What's wrong with that?"_ Dean asked, baffled.

_"For a human, nothing. For an angel, everything. It is beyond appalling."_

_"But you're doing the same thing," _Dean pointed out heatedly.

_"I am not!"_

_"Uh, hello, God isn't answering your calls, and there are no angels higher ranked than you to tell you what to do, so there's no one for you seek revelation from. Doesn't that mean you're making your own choices, just like Cas?"_

_"It's true that there are no other angels higher in rank than I, but that does not mean that I act without guidance. I am not so reckless or prideful. I know that I am but part of the order of things, and I – "_

_"Get off the high horse already. You don't like Cas. I get it! We're not going to agree on this. You sought revelation, you did your little angelic prayer dance, and now you're waiting to hear from… whom?"_

_"The Divine Orders, angels of balance and wisdom, creatures of holy prophecy."_

_"Never heard of them."_

_"They are not the sort of angels with whom you would be likely to be familiar. They never leave Heaven, never take vessels, and they are never seen by human eyes, not even the eyes of those who have been granted salvation and passed into Paradise. They are creatures of the Throne of God, wise beyond your ability to comprehend, who exist only to interpret God's will and make it manifest. Their instructions are never to be disobeyed. Their advice is disregarded only at the greatest peril."_

_"But you outrank them?"_ Dean said dubiously.

_"Yes," _Michael ground out.

_"And now you're waiting for them to tell you what they think you should do?"_

_"Yes."_

_"In case you hadn't noticed, they're not answering,"_ Dean pointed out in the tone of one speaking to a very slow or very drunk friend.

"Enough!" Michael snapped aloud. _"I have answered _your_ questions, now be still and let me work."_

_"Okay, Mr. Sensitive, no need to be grouchy."_ Dean went quiet, allowing Michael the peace that the archangel seemed to think he needed to "seek revelation," though Dean had a funny feeling that instructions might be a while in coming. If God wasn't talking anymore, what were the odds that God's lawyers and secretaries – which is what these Divine Orders sounded like to him – were going to answer? Either God wasn't talking to them either, and Michael was out of luck, or God _was_ talking to them and had told them not to help the other Heavenly yahoos with their little apocalypse. Either way, Michael was screwed, and if the archangel was screwed… crap. They might just all be screwed.

Though he stopped pestering Michael, Dean didn't retreat entirely. Instead, he took the opportunity to gaze at the world beyond his own prison. No one was in view outside the window anymore, but the wind was blowing, leaves skittered across the gravel yard, and birds called in the distance. It was all gorgeous. Even the sun reflecting on the junkers out there seemed strangely beautiful to him now. He wondered where Sammy had gone. He wondered where Castiel and Bobby had gotten themselves to and if they were staying out of trouble. His damn nose itched.

A hand reached up, entirely outside Dean's control, and scratched at the offending bit of skin. Dean's internal eyebrows went up. Well, what do you know, coincidence? Concentrating, Dean thought about how much his head itched. At first nothing happened, then, after a few minutes, the hand rose again, this time scratching just at his hairline. He chuckled. So, when Michael was distracted, Dean could actually influence his –

"_Stop that,"_ the archangel snapped angrily. _"You accomplished nothing. I am merely attempting to be considerate, and yet you are disrupting my attempts to seek revelation."_

"_It's been three days, dude. Newsflash, revelation's not coming. Maybe you should try something else, like going out there and stomping on Lucifer."_

Michael sighed, though this time it was strictly internal. "_Perhaps you are right."_

_"I am? I mean, yeah, I am. Sic 'em, boy!"_

_"Not about that. I am not ready to confront Lucifer. But it is time to try something else."_

Dean was on the verge of asking, "Try what?" when the sense of being overwhelmed, over-powered, over-awed and generally over-exposed finally hit him, thought not at all in the way he'd expected. Images whipped by him like still frames from some artistic Indie movie on super fast forward. An elm tree. An antique car. A white horse. A dark, filthy alley. A piece of chewing gum on the sidewalk. A plastic toy in a plastic bubble out of a vending machine. A dead flower crawling with aphids. A live frog eating a dragonfly. A man shooting another man. An elderly woman playing with a child. A dog running under some kind of ancient stone bridge. A bloody rack with manacles dangling. A smiling infant crawling on what he thought was the Great Wall of China. The images were random, utterly unconnected, and they kept coming in Technicolor, getting steadily faster. A tree again. A cane. A rock. A clock. A doll. A bed. A shotgun. A sword. An branding iron. A whip. A black cloud. What began disjointed gradually took form and shape, took on meaning… a god awful one as images of The Pit began to dominate. They came faster with every passing moment, each flash more blinding, more horrifying than the last, but this was no movie, and Dean could not close his eyes, could not change the channel. He cringed and flinched as picture after picture hit him like a blow. Alastair. Fire. Sulfur. Black eyes. Razor. Needle. Whip. Rack. Cane. Sword. Ice. Pliers. Acid. Oil. Smoke. Smoke. Smoke. Smoke.

_"Michael!" _he screamed, pain and panic suffused him, but there was nowhere to run, no way to escape. He tried to retreat as he had once before, but it was more difficult now. The way was shut, and – _"Michael!"_

_"Better you should not witness this," _Michael said gently._ "Let me help you."_

Dean felt the archangel's strength pushing at him, but delicately, guiding him carefully back into the recesses where he could hide.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

When Dean surfaced, pictures were still zipping through his mind… Michael's mind? Their mind? Well, it was _somebody's _freakin' mind! They were no longer images of The Hot Box, though, and looking at them didn't make Dean want to run screaming for the hills. They were, however, giving him a ginormous headache with the speed at which they were whizzing by. By concentrating, Dean found that he could just make out shape here, a landscape there. Most of it was lost on him, but he'd swear that he saw a 1967 Mustang fastback at one point and what he thought might be a Studebaker station wagon a minute or two later. Most of the pictures now seemed to be focused on cars. What in the name of Henry Ford was Heaven's major general doing mentally flipping through automotive centerfolds?

"_Michael? Hey, Michael?"_

The slideshow stopped as abruptly as it had first begun, and Dean felt the archangel's attention bend on him. _"Hello, Dean. Feeling better?"_

"_Yeah, loads now that the movie's on intermission. What the hell are you doing, anyway? This isn't part of that seeking revelation thing?"_

"_No. You were right. It was time to try something else."_

"_Duh. I know I was right, but what is the something else? What's with the cars?"_

Michael gave what Dean could only think of as a mental shrug.

"_Come on, dude, I'm not going to be able to tell anybody. Remember?"_

Now Dean could definitely feel the shrug as Michael spoke with hint of laughter in his mental voice. _"This is not precisely a secret, Dean. Many humans already know of it. You yourself have heard of it, in fact."_

"_Heard of what? The automotive industry?" _Dean groused.

"_Higher knowledge."_

"_Higher knowledge," _Dean repeated. _"Like _higher _higher knowledge? Like Douglas Adams and the number 42?"_

_"I am not familiar with Douglas Adams," _Michael said, sounding bemused, _"but, from your tone, I think you have the general idea."_

_"And higher knowledge involves Studebakers?" _Dean asked dubiously.

The amusement now was blatant._ "It can. Higher knowledge is simply anything that any living angel has ever seen. What one angel has seen, all can see."_

"_Everything? You can see everything that every angel's ever seen?"_

"_Every living angel, yes."_

Dean snorted. _"Prove it."_

Michael said nothing, and for a few seconds, Dean didn't think that the archangel was going to rise to the bait. Then, suddenly, a new image appeared before Dean's eyes. A young man with carefully gelled hair, an expensive suit and a striped tie sitting behind a desk in a high-rise office building looking decidedly skeptical and more than a little freaked out. Sitting in the chair before the desk was another young man with a decided air of expectation. This one wore a yellow polo shirt with a corporate logo emblazoned on the breast. Sandover Bridge & Iron, Inc.

_"Holy crap!"_

Michael laughed.

_"Where'd you get that?" _Dean demanded.

_"From Zachariah's memories."_

_"Can any angel just call that up?"_ Dean squeaked. _"Just like that?"_

_"Given enough time and effort, yes, but not 'just like that,'" _Michael clarified as Dean felt his fingers snap against his thigh. _"How well one swims the pool of higher knowledge depends on any number of factors from power, to purpose, to finesse and practice. Even a few humans have been able to dive into that pool."_

_"Michael, be serious. If any human could do this, I'd have heard of him," Dean scoffed._

_"And so you have, or are you going to tell me that you've never heard of Leonardo di ser Piero Da Vinci?"_

_"Okay, him I've heard of," _Dean admitted grudgingly,_ "but – "_

_"Imhotep? Aristotle? Zhang Heng? Omar Khayyam? Benjamin Franklin? Walter Elias Disney?"_

_"Now you're just showing off," _Dean groused.

_"Perhaps."_

_"But how could a human access the memories of angels?"_

_"I do not precisely know. I know only that certain special humans, those whose minds are properly attuned, have always been able to seek higher knowledge by accessing the heavenly overmind. I believe your people call it the Akashic Field."_

_"My people?"_

_"Hunters. I'm certain Bobby must know of it. It is generally assumed to be the knowledge of all humans who have ever lived, but as I said, it is a higher source of knowledge. Most of it is incomprehensible to the few humans who can see it, and only a handful have ever understood perfectly what they were seeing and where that knowledge came from."_

_"The people who can tap in, what's special about them?"_

_"Well, for starters, they're all vessels or at least potential vessels. Because of their ability to see events at a great distance or to see things that happened long ago or that an angel is working to manifest, such people are often mistaken for prophets."_

_"Like Chuck?" _Dean said._ "That would explain a hell of a lot."_

_"No. I believe Chuck is a genuine prophet."_

_"Oh. So, could I…"_

_"No. Your mind lacks the necessary rigor."_

_"Bite me!"_

Michael laughed again. _"You keep saying that. But I think, somehow, that Sam would object if I started nibbling on parts of you."_

_"Okay, gross much." _Dean briefly contemplated sulking, decided it wouldn't be nearly as much of punishment for Michael as it usually was for Sammy, and went on with his questions. _"But not everybody can work it the same way? Right?" _he asked, still freaked by the idea that just any old angel could hook in and see exactly how Zachariah had been dicking around with him and Sammy.

_"Of course not. An angel such as Castiel, a simple soldier has a fairly standard ability to access the field. A cherub and or a guardian angel has a great deal less ability to tap into it, while an archangel, like myself – "_

"_Can make the damn thing dance like a hacker with a laptop?"_

"_No. I'm not that good, though Lucifer was. You see, the field isn't organized in any way, so while everything is there to find, finding it can be like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack."_

"_God I hate research,"_ Dean groaned. Michael hummed an earnest and seemingly tired agreement. _"How long have you been scrolling through these?"_

"_Only about twenty-two hours, and I am already on the right track. The information I seek is nearly in my grasp."_

"_Well that explains the good mood. Though what you have to be tired about, I don't know. When Cas needs to figure something out, he goes flitting all over the country working his tail-feathers off. All you have to do is stand here, in the middle of Bobby's living room, and run through your angelic playlist."_

"_That is Castiel's fault," _Michael said acerbically. _"He cut himself off from the field. It was one of the consequences of his rebellion. When he ceased to work in Heaven's name, he lost his connection to the field just as he lost his connection to Heaven's power. Lucifer lost his connection to the field for the same reason."_

_"So are angels who rebel the only ones who can't jack in?"_

"_No. Others, like Gabriel, cut themselves off by choice."_

"_But why would he do that?" _Dean said, more to himself than to Michael. The archangel was in an expansive mood, however, and answered readily enough.

"_Because whenever an angel downloads anything from the field, they also upload all of their own recent experiences. For Gabriel, tapping into the overmind would essentially mean coming out of hiding. We could find him again. He has stayed hidden all this time in part by the simple expedient of not tapping into the overmind or Heaven's power."_

_"Well that blows."_

_"For him," _Michael agreed. _"But don't you agree that it's time he accepted his responsibilities?"_

_"You mean like telling Mary she had a little surprise coming?" _Dean said dryly.

_"Actually, I think he particularly enjoyed that assignment," _Michael said, disapproval evident in his voice. "_Though I do recall him saying something about her throwing things at him."_

_"Could you look up memories of that?" _Dean asked eagerly.

_"Not now," _Michael said repressively. _"I have work to do."_

_"So, this whole overmind thing, sharing your thoughts, common knowledge… you guys are kind of like ants or bees or something. One giant hive mind,"_ Dean said, wondering if the statement would piss Michael off enough to make the archangel smite him on the spot.

To his surprise, the angel contemplated the suggestion for a moment, then said, completely unoffended, _"Yes. We are. But that is part of the difference between angels and humans, group ethics and responsibility to the greater community versus rampant individuality and free will."_

_"Only you could turn a comparison to a bug into a game of one-upmanship,"_ Dean grumbled.

_"Now, as I said, I have work to return to."_

Dean sighed. "_More pretty, pretty pictures?"_

_"Yes."_

_"What are you looking for, anyway?"_

_"I am searching for knowledge of the Four Horsemen. Specifically, the location of their rings."_

_"What for?"_

_"I may be able to use them to defeat Lucifer without destroying half this fair world. The rings, combined with the use of my true vessel, will render me far stronger than my brother. If you wish to spare mankind pain, then this is the best way."_

_"Are you kidding me?" _Dean exclaimed.

_"No. Of course not. Why do you ask?"_

Stunned, Dean quickly contemplated his options before deciding he had nothing to lose. _"Because you're looking through the wrong set of memories,"_ he said, half hysterically.

"_What do you mean?" _Michael demanded heatedly.

"_Can't you see what's in my head? Don't you have my memories? I kind of thought angels were able to pick their vessels' brains." _Michael said nothing, but Dean sensed a strange discomfort coming from the archangel. _"Michael?"_

"_I cannot read your memories as easily as I should."_

_"What? Why?_

Michael sighed, and then grudgingly said, _"I do not know."_

Neither of them said anything for a time until Dean finally burst out, _"How can you not know?"_

"_It is in part because of this that I was seeking revelation. I have no explanation for our unique interactions."_

"_And by unique, you mean fucked up!"_

_"I did not say that,"_ Michael insisted.

_"You didn't have to. I'm awake and I shouldn't be. You feel like a drained battery in my head and now you can't read my memories the way you're supposed to. I thought I was supposed to be the ultimate, uber vessel, and now you're telling me I'm defective."_

Michael sighed more deeply than ever. _"So it would seem."_

_"Well, screw you!"_ Dean growled.

"_You are the one who said it, not I."_

_"Damn it, Michael! Is this going to fuck everything up?"_ Dean demanded. _"Are you still going to be able to kill Lucifer with all these problems cropping up?"_

_"Of course. It is my destiny,"_ Michael said sternly. _"I cannot fail."_

_"Oh that's way reassuring. I feel so much better now." _Dean mocked.

_"You need not be so offensive," _Michael grumbled. _"And what did you mean earlier when you said I was looking through the wrong set of memories?"_

Still irritated and doubting what little faith had slowly been growing in the archangel, Dean said nothing, but trying to out-patience a several-thousand-year-old angel struck him as pretty pointless. _"Damn it, Michael, I know exactly where two of the rings are. There's a cord hanging around your neck. Pull it out." _Michael complied, and as they looked down together at the shiny gold band, Dean said, _"That's War's ring. Sam has Famine's. You're already halfway done, ya idjit."_

*Author's note: I hope you all enjoyed that. Next scene will be Sam's POV and we should get a good deal more action again. Personally, I'm having a blast writing this, so I hope you like it too. Remember, reviews are love and are directly proportional to the speed at which scenes get written and posted. I hope to hear from you all. Take care, dear reader.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

When the hairs on the back of his arms suddenly stood on end and a shiver passed through his skin like a wave, leaving goosebumps in its wake, Sam looked up from the bedraggled copy of John Dee's Grimoirium Imperium he'd been scanning through at the kitchen table. Michael was standing over him, regarding him with that too steady gaze that made Sam feel naked and strangely defenseless. He gulped. It was, as far as he knew, the first time the angel had moved so much as a foot from his position before the living room window in the last five days. For the inactive archangel to suddenly be acting so… well, active, could only mean major changes.

"What?" Sam asked nervously.

"You have Famine's ring. Give it to me."

"What – how did you know that I…" Sam shook his head to clear it of pointless questions and fixed on the one question that mattered. "Why?" he asked. His eyes widened as he noticed that the cord Dean wore War's ring on was now hanging in the open, resting against the front of his t-shirt. So Michael had War's ring – a small fact that hadn't even occurred to Sam given the rest of what he was dealing with. Now the archangel wanted Famine's ring too? That just couldn't be good. One of those class rings was dangerous enough all on its own. Together they had only slightly less potential for death and destruction than a half-dozen nuclear bombs strung together like Christmas tree lights.

"I will use the rings to best Lucifer. With the additional power of the Horsemen's rings at my disposal, I may be strong enough to defeat my brother while keeping human casualties to a minimum."

Sam rose from his chair and took a step closer to the angel. "Really?" he asked, hopeful but still skeptical. "You could stop him without killing half the population of the planet? Are you telling me the truth?"

"Do you not see the fallacy in asking a person you suspect of being a liar whether they are lying?"

"Why do you need the rings, specifically?" Sam asked, thinking aloud. "I mean, what would they let you do? How would you stop him?"

"You don't need the details. You just need to give me the ring and let me do the rest."

Sam ground his teeth. He was sick to death of people telling him what was and wasn't his concern, what he could and couldn't know, what he could and couldn't do. "I'm involved in this, Michael. I need to know what you're planning. I'm the one who'd be handing the ring over to you, and that makes me responsible."

"You broke the final seal when you killed Lilith. _That_ makes you responsible, just as Dean is responsible for breaking the first seal. Anything more is entirely immaterial."

Sam took a step forward, looming over the archangel in his fury. "Don't you blame Dean for this! Don't you dare! If you winged bastards hadn't – " He took a step back and shook himself, breathing hard. This wasn't the time. There was no point. The angels would never see the breaking of the seals as proof of anything but human weakness and darkness. Their own jacked-up part in starting the Apocalypse would never give them a moment's unease. Sam ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath and tried again. "Look, I know I was responsible for starting the Apocalypse. I know I screwed up. Dean knows. Bobby knows. Hell, judging by the fact that two fellow hunters tracked me down and killed me for it, I'm guessing half the damn world knows. All I can do now is try to fix what I broke and try to be more responsible now than I was then. Starting the Apocalypse doesn't abrogate my responsibility for what happens now. It increases it." Michael regarded him silently, and Sam couldn't tell if the archangel was actually weighing his words or just waiting for Sam to run out of arguments and give in. It was so hard to read him, and so strange to be unable to read such familiar features. God, Dean… "If I give you the ring, then I am as responsible as you for anything you do with it."

Michael did not move, but his gaze fixed itself on Sam's face with a peculiar intensity. "One way or another, I will face Lucifer and I will fight him, Sam. It will happen. You cannot stop it. The only thing you can do by attempting to hinder me is raise the odds that more people will die, needlessly and horribly."

And those deaths will be on my head, too, Sam thought. I get it. Whatever happens, it's all on me. Are you listening, God? I get it. "And if I help you face Lucifer and you lose, then what, Michael? What happens to everyone then?" Michael eyes him speculatively for a moment, making Sam feel jittery, but he restrained himself, not wanting to appear any weaker in front of the angel than he already had.

"You mean what happens to Dean," Michael corrected.

Yes! Sam thought. "No," he said. "No, I… I mean everyone. All of humanity. I need to know what happens to them if you try this and fail."

"They all die, Sam. I die. Dean dies. Countless angels die. In the end, even the demons will die one final death."

Sam gulped. "And me?"

"You? You… may be spared. Even if you do not accept him, you are Lucifer's true vessel, and no angel would harm his own vessel. Besides, he's grateful to you for releasing him."

"But I didn't do it on purpose," Sam growled, spinning around and resting his hands on the edge of the sink. "Damn it, I never meant to let him out. I didn't know!"

"But you did let him out. That is all that matters."

"So intentions are irrelevant?" Sam asked without turning.

"Sometimes," Michael said softly behind him.

"Well, they're not irrelevant to me. So I want to know exactly what your intentions are," he insisted, turning back to face the archangel. He knew he was crazy to be making demands, knew it was madness to irritate – let alone anger – Heaven's most powerful warrior, but he just didn't care. He'd lost too much, stood to lose too much more, and he damn well wasn't backing down. Besides, Michael just didn't frighten him as he once had. Maybe it was the fact that the archangel wore his brother's face. Maybe it was the soft voice, the non-threatening posture, or maybe it was just the compassion he sometimes sensed looking at him through Dean's bright eyes. It was getting hard to remember sometimes what Michael was, what he'd condoned, what he'd put them both through via his minion, Zachariah. Sam grit his teeth so hard his jaw began to ache. "Tell me what you're planning."

"I already told you," Michael replied, impatience finally evident in that deep voice. "I intend to defeat Lucifer and save as much of humanity as I can in the process."

Fine. Whatever, Sam thought tiredly. I don't care. I don't care about humanity. I don't care about the angels or Heaven or Hell. Tell me what I want to know. "Tell me what you'll do if you win. Tell me exactly what happens to Dean." The archangel titled his head in a very non-Dean like way. It called to mind memories of Castiel when the lesser angel had still been new to his vessel and inexperienced at fabricating the semblance of humanity in his gestures and interactions. It was eerie to see that look from Dean.

"What do you care about more, Sam? Saving your brother or saving the world?"

"My brother is the world for me!" Sam snapped, unable to take Michael's deflections any longer. "He's all I have, and I can't… I can't lose him again. I can't."

"Don't you think that's a little selfish?"

"Oh, it's all kinds of selfish, and I don't fucking care. Dean is my world, and he's everything that is right on this screwed up, craphole of planet. He's honest and brave and compassionate and selfless and – " Sam broke off, his voice failing him for a moment. "You angels, with your plans and your egos and whining may not see that, may not see what he's worth, but I do!"

"It was not so long ago that you wished only to get away from him. Even in Heaven, you had no desire to be with him." Sam flinched as if Michael had struck him. He dropped his gaze, not wanting to see the look of scorn in the archangel' eyes… Dean's eyes. "You wanted your freedom," Michael continued remorselessly. "You thought him holding you back, and you wanted him out of your life. What has changed?"

Sam looked up, raising his chin defiantly even as he felt his lips tremble. "I've changed. Maybe it's too late, maybe it's not, but I've changed, and I want a second chance to be the man and the… the brother that I should have been before. So you promise me… you promise me that he's going to be alright. You told him the first time you met him, that you wouldn't hurt him. You told him that you'd leave him the way you found him after you were done with him. Now you promise me that you will! Promise me!"

"This does not ultimately concern you Sam. It is entirely between Dean and myself," Michael said repressively, his expression darkening.

"The Hell it is. He's my brother! My family! You know how I feel. So you promise me you'll keep him safe. You promise me you'll give him back to me when this is over. Promise it, or no deal."

"_What shall I tell him, Dean?" _Michael asked in that casually superior voice that so irritated the hunter. _"Shall I tell him about our bargain? Shall I tell him what I already promised you?"_

"_Go to Hell,"_ Dean said tiredly, wishing he could just check out and leave the archangel to his smug lonesome.

"_That's not an answer."_

Dean groaned, longing to just shut his eyes. Though Michael was still looking at Sammy, the angel had allowed his gaze to become unfocused, and Dean could neither look away nor bring it back into focus. Sammy's features swam like a rosary submerged in holy water. It was an itch he couldn't scratch. And this whole damn scene – being forced to listen in on Michael's conversation with Sammy was unexpectedly painful. It had done Dean's proud when the kid told Michael off for expecting him to shirk his responsibility where the Apocalypse was concerned. He sounded so much more grounded now, so much more mature, but then he'd started in, harping on Dean's safety and… Every conversation Sammy had with the archangel seemed to swing back around to Dean somehow. Why wouldn't the kid just let go and move on? Like Michael'd said, it wasn't as if Sammy'd shown much sign of wanting Dean around over the last few months. Now the kid felt guilty for it. So what? Dean wasn't going to take advantage of that guilt. He just couldn't. Sam deserved the life he'd always wanted, and that meant a life without Dean and all the obligations he represented.

"_You know my answer," _Dean finally replied. _ "Sammy doesn't need to know about any of this."_

"_Why shouldn't I tell him?" _Michael persisted. _"He'll find out sooner or later… unless… were you hoping that I would lie for you? Do you expect me to lead them to believe that I lied_ to_ you, that I never intended you to survive this? Am I to be cast as the villain of the piece, the deceitful, untrustworthy angel who used you and then slew you?"_

"_What do you care what they think of you?" _Dean asked, surprised by the offended tones coming through as clearly as satellite radio. _ "They're just humans, right? We're just inferior little hairless apes. What we think doesn't matter."_

"_According to whom?"_

"_Are you kidding me?" _he asked, disbelieving._ "According to every angel I've ever met, from A to Z."_ A to Z, Anael to Zachariah, with a buttload of greater and lesser dicks in between.

"_You've met very few of us, Dean."_

"_Yeah, and every single one of you is a dick. Even Cas has his dicky moments, and while he may be fighting for us, he still thinks we're miserable, violent, sadistic bastards who'd be better off in Paradise."_

"_Hmmm," _Michael said, as if suddenly unwilling to comment on Castiel's opinions and motivations. _"Perhaps. But 'dick' or not, I do not lie by choice, and I will not lie for you."_

"_You can't tell him," _Dean hissed urgently. _"Michael, no. Please. He doesn't need that on top of everything else. Please just… just don't tell him."_

"_It would be much simpler if you were to amend our agreement. If you no longer wished me to destroy your soul, then there would be need to either deceive or dismay your brother."_

Dean cursed, wishing he were more fluent in Enochian, certain that most of what he said went right over the archangel's head.

_"I do not have intercourse with sheep nor goats nor my aged grandmother," _Michael noted dryly. _"Do I take this diatribe to mean that you will not change your mind? You still wish to be destroyed?"_

Dean felt all the weight of the archangel's presence and mind bearing down on him for a moment and shrank away as much as he could. It was as if Michael were trying to make him say the words through sheer force of will, as if the archangel could mentally squeeze the desired concession from him. Dean pushed back, feeling like a butterfly beating its wings against a net in the hands of malicious child.

"_Why are you doing this to me? You have what you wanted. Just leave me alone."_

"_I can't leave you alone, Dean. It isn't possible. Not now."_

"_Then leave Sammy alone! Why are you tormenting him like this? Why are you even here? And don't give me that crap about promising me you'd protect him. That's bullshit and you know it. I asked you to protect him from Zachariah. Period. I don't even understand why you're here or why you saved him in Bramble."_

"_You heard my explanation to Sam."_

"_And I don't buy it one little bit. What are you up to? Why are you glued to Sammy's side? Why won't you leave him alone?"_

Whether Michael would have answered, Dean couldn't know because at that moment he felt his body being shaken, and the angel's attention shifted from him back to his little brother. Sammy was speaking… had clearly been speaking for some time.

" – gone again! Where are you? Where do you go when you just check out in the middle of a conversation? Michael? Michael!" Sammy shook them again, his hold on the lapels of Dean's jacket leaving his knuckles white. "You promise me you'll give him back to me, whole and healthy, and I'll give you the ring. Hell, I'll do everything in my power to help you. Just swear to me – swear to me in God's name that you'll give Dean back to me. Michael!"

"Sam, what the hell?" Bobby exclaimed. Sammy and Michael both spun toward the hunter. Bobby was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, gaping at them like they'd both lost their minds. Michael turned back to Sammy just in time for Dean to see his brother let go of his jacket and step away looking both irritated and embarrassed.

"What is it, Bobby?" Sammy walked over to him, and Michael shifted to keep both hunters in his line of sight.

Eyeing the archangel uneasily, Bobby said, "Look, Sam, I know you don't want me to hotwire the Impala, but we never found the keys, and I've got another delivery coming in. I've got to move her."

"You own two tow trucks, Bobby," Sam replied impatiently, taking some of his annoyance out on the older man. "You do the math."

"I know that, boy," Bobby snapped, "but somehow I think Dean would rather see his baby hotwired than towed. We should probably just replace the whole damn ignition, but I don't have the parts and I need to move her now." Dean had never been more grateful for a change of subject in his life, but the argument that commenced was unexpectedly heated and entirely ridiculous even by his standards. Sam was as worked up as Dean had ever seen him over the car, and Bobby… well, if Dean didn't know better, he'd swear that Bobby was deliberately pissing the kid off. What was he up to?

"_Michael?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Right front pocket."_

"_Right front pocket of what?" _the archangel asked, clearly perplexed.

"_My jeans, you moron. The car keys are in the right front pocket of my jeans. Give them to Bobby. I meant to leave them for Sam, but it kind of slipped my mind what with one thing and another."_

"_Is this really the time? We have more important things to discuss."_

"_It's the perfect time. Now give 'em the damn keys already."_

"_Oh, very well," _Michael grumbled irritably. Slipping his hand into the pocket, Michael found the keys and pulled them out. "Bobby," he said, making the older hunter jump nervously.

"Yeah," Bobby asked suspiciously. Sam also turned to see what the archangel wanted, and both men's eyes widened, their brows climbing when Michael simply held the keys out toward them without a word of explanation. "Oh, for the love of… balls!" Snatching the keys out of the angel's hand with a "sheep are flying, so what else is new" look, he grabbed Sammy by the arm and dragged the kid into the living room with him. Though he could no longer see them, Dean could hear both of them as Bobby launched into a diatribe on the subject of making bargains with supernatural critters. This argument was even more heated than the last had been. It ended with a snapped, "don't make any damned decisions or deals with that angel until I get back. You hear me, boy?" from Bobby. Then Dean heard the front door open and slam shut.

Dean could feel Michael's bafflement as Sam returned to the kitchen, dragging his feet and looking both defiant and woebegone. _"What can Bobby possibly think any of this has to do with him?" _the archangel asked – the first time he'd asked for any kind of real information from Dean.

"_Well, for starters, it's his house you're rooming in."_

"_I do not have a room, and he is not of sufficient significance to merit any say whatsoever in the decisions that are being made here regardless of his ownership of this building."_

Dean rolled his eyes mentally, wishing he was in a separate body just so he could smack the archangel right upside the head. _"Insignificant my ass. You start badmouthing Bobby, and you and I are going to have words."_

"_What words?" _Michael demanded, more perplexed than ever.

Dean groaned. "_God, it's like talking to Cas, only less fun."_

"_There is no need to be insulting."_

Dean bristled at the implied insult to his friend. _"Now, listen you – "_

"Michael?"

Dean returned his focus to Sam just as Michael did. The kid looked desperate, his expression beyond hangdog as he searched his brother's face hungrily. "Tell me you'll protect him. Tell me I'll get him back. Tell me."

Michael sighed aloud. "I can make no promises, Sam, but I will do what I can for Dean. You must be satisfied with that. Now, please, give me the ring."

Clearly angry and apparently not remotely satisfied with Michael's promise, Sammy said, "Why don't you just take it?"

"You wish me to steal the ring from you?"

"Why not? It's not like you'd even have to hurt me. You could just put me to sleep and take it. You wouldn't even be breaking your promise to Dean, since I wouldn't be hurt. So why don't you take the ring?

"Because I want you to give it to me."

"But why?" Sammy asked pleadingly. "Why does it matter?"

"Because, Sam, you need to accept what is happening if you are to find peace and finally lay to rest the anger that has eaten away at your soul for so long. You must accept that there are things in this world beyond your control, things you cannot change. You must accept that there are times when you have to bow your stiff neck and do as you are told."

"If you're trying to make me less pissed off with that little speech, newsflash, you're failing."

"_You tell him, Sammy,"_ Dean thought, shouting his encouragement so Michael could hear it.

"I can see that," Michael sighed.

"Why do you give a shit anyway?" Sam demanded. "What difference does it make to you if I find _peace_? You promised Dean I'd be safe. I seriously doubt you promised him you'd psychoanalyze me. What's with the shrink talk?"

"I care about you Sam."

"_You what?" Dean cried._

"You what?" Sammy echoed him a moment later. "Michael: defender of humanity and anger management counselor? I don't buy it."

"I said I care about _you_, Sam. Not humanity – though I do care about mankind as a whole as well."

"But why? Why do you give a crap about me?"

"For many reasons."

"_Do tell."_

"I'm listening," Sammy said impatiently.

"You are part of my bloodline. You are the brother of my true vessel. You are the true vessel of my own brother. And you are a hunter. Any of those is reason enough for me to wish you well."

"A hunter?" Sammy repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why does my being a hunter matter?" Michael said nothing immediately, and after a moment of pensiveness, Sammy went on. "When we were talking about Bobby a few days ago, you said he was a good hunter, said it with this tone like you were, I don't know, proud or something, and you mentioned, 'the call.' What did you mean? What's 'the call?'"

Dean could feel Michael's genuine surprise at the question. "The call to service," the archangel said slowly and precisely, as if still uncertain what Sammy was asking him. As if it should have been obvious.

"_Huh?"_

"Huh?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael explained. "Not all people who experience the supernatural become hunters, Sam. It takes a special kind of person to carry that burden. Someone with a need for order, for justice – "

"For revenge?"

"Sometimes," Michael admitted. Dean didn't interrupt, too fascinated and eager to hear the archangel's explanation for himself. "Being a hunter, like being a priest, is not something one chooses. It chooses you. It calls to your blood. Once he knew of the supernatural, of the dangers that threaten your kind every day, a true hunter could never be anything else."

"Forgive me but none of the other angels we've encountered seem to have much use for humans in general, let alone hunters, yet you sound like you've given this a lot of thought."

"Of course."

"Why of course?"

"_Yeah," _Dean urged. _"Why?"_

"Because I was a hunter ante litteram," Michael replied, speaking to both of them, though Sammy couldn't know that.

"Ante… before it existed? You?" Sammy said, his eyebrows doing their little _excited to learn something unexpected dance._ "You were the first hunter?"

"Who else," the archangel said, sounding more than a little superior. "I slew the first dragon. I eased the first angry spirit from this existence, and I taught the first demon that no darkness will ever walk this world with impunity. Is it any wonder with my blood in your veins that so many in your family should have become hunters?"

"But we have free will," Sam insisted.

"So my father says," Michael conceded.

"You don't believe it?"

Michael sighed and then turned his back on Sammy to look out the window above the kitchen sink. "I want to believe that, in you, free will can create rather than destroy. That you – humanity – can ultimately use my father's gift in a manner befitting the honor of the gift. But, even for an angel, faith can falter. It is what happened to Lucifer. It is what led Zachariah and others like him to collude in bringing about this Apocalypse. It is not evil that is the greatest danger in this world, Sam. It is the loss of faith." Turning back and taking in Sammy's shocked expression, he said, "Though my faith has been tried, though it is weak at times, I will not surrender the hope that it is only I who am mistaken, and not my father. That is why I must stop Lucifer before he finds a way to make you say yes. A battle between us, each in our true vessels, would destroy this world and countless millions of you, my father's so-called greatest creation. If I can face my brother while he is still in a lesser vessel and while I am empowered by the Horsemen's rings, it is possible that I may be able to defeat Lucifer without utterly destroying him and everything else in our path, without resorting to methods that – "

"Wait!" Sammy exclaimed, and Dean could see realization dawning in his little brother's face even as the significance of Michael's words sank in for him. "Wait. You... my God, you want to save him."

"What I want is inconsequential," Michael replied stiffly. "I am my father's true son, and I will do what I must to safeguard the children he always loved most, the children he loved more than ever he loved us."

"It's not inconsequential to me," Sammy insisted, drawing nearer to the angel in his excitement. "You want to save your brother."

"Sam…"

"You do! Admit it!"

"Yes!" Michael boomed, his voice shaking the walls of the house, but not seeming to intimidate Sammy in the slightest, his excitement was so great. "There," he bellowed even louder, "are you satisfied now that I have laid myself bare for your morbid curiosity? He is my brother and I love him even after everything he has done. I do not wish him to die, but I will not let him destroy this world. I will do what I must, pain me as it will."

"It's not the world he wants to destroy," Sammy pointed out, making Dean want to smack him.

"_Let's not plead Lucifer's case here, Sammy boy."_

"I will not let him destroy mankind. I will not let him destroy _you._ I cannot."

"Gabriel says… Gabriel says I'm like him," Sam said slowly, as if another piece of the puzzle were falling into place for him at last.

"You are very like him, but that it is hardly to be wondered at. It is simply part of our shared fate, you, Lucifer, Dean and I. We – " Michael broke off abruptly, whirling to face the kitchen wall. He peered at it as if trying to look through the solid wood. Dean was utterly baffled, but then he felt it, a tightening at the base of his skull, a cold shiver in his veins.

"Demons," Michael hissed.

Dean felt the power of the archangel wrap around them, the world twisted, and they were gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Michael disappeared before his eyes and Sam jerked forward, instinctively grabbing for his vanishing brother. No sooner had the archangel gone, than Sam heard a horn bleating in the distance, a steady, low, tired pulse. Sam's feet were moving before he'd even registered what the sound had to be. A car – no, a truck horn of some kind, going off again and again as if someone were leaning on it. It wasn't the irregular tattoo of someone trying to get attention, though, just that constant bleat, bleat, bleat that made Sam's nerves jangle. He clattered down the porch steps, scanning the yard for some sign of what was happening.

The only thing immediately obvious was that Bobby had, in fact, moved the Impala. She was parked in front of the house now, a tarp drawn partially over her gleaming body. The salvage yard gate stood open at the front of the lot, and Sam realized that Bobby's new delivery must have arrived while he was arguing with Michael. There was no sign of Bobby or the tow truck, though. Cursing, Sam spun in a circle, trying to decide which of the narrow alleys created by the endless walls of cars that they must have gone down. It was hard to tell where in the maze the horn was coming from. The sound of a gun discharging didn't help appreciably either, echoing briefly and then dying before Sam could get a fix on it. Finally, he took off down what seemed like the most likely path. He slid to a halt as he turned the final corner and found himself in an empty, metal cul-de-sac. Spinning on his heel, Sam ran back to the main yard and went down a different path. He knew in an instant that, this time, he'd picked the right one. More gunshots and the sound of Bobby yelling became louder as he raced along, gravel spurting from beneath his shoes as he skidded around corners, nearly losing his balance.

What he saw when he finally caught up with the sounds of the altercation literally stopped him in his tracks, stopped him cold with a feeling like dry ice in his veins. So many bodies…

Bobby, bleeding from too many scratches and cuts to count in a single glance, stood with his back against a wrecked ice cream truck, a bloody silver knife clutched in his shaking hand, his chest heaving as he sucked in one gasping breath after another. There was no sign of whatever gun the hunter must have been using. Between Bobby and the carnage stood Michael. The archangel's eyes darted about, taking in everything, scanning for danger with that icy calm that said louder than words _this is not Dean._ A few feet further on, half-sitting and half-lying on the ground was Castiel. His trench coat was filthy with dirt, blood and other things that Sam didn't even want to think about. Bloody scratches marked his face and hands even as they marked Bobby's, and the angel looked frazzled, almost shell-shocked. He rose gracefully enough to his feet, though, shedding the gore and the injuries alike, the filth literally falling away as his clothing and skin repaired itself before Sam's eyes. Castiel walked quickly to Bobby's side and touched the older hunter with two extended fingers, healing his injuries even as he'd healed his own.

Reassured that everyone was all right, or as all right as it was possible to be under the current insane circumstances, Sam allowed his gaze to drift to the true focus of the scene… the bodies. They were literally everywhere. The tow-truck that Bobby had been waiting for was parked in the middle of the intersection of two of the salvage yard's wider allies. Attached to it was a U-Haul truck. The corrugated metal door on the rear of the truck was raised, and bodies were strewn from the threshold, across the gravel and up to Dean's… Michael's… Dean's boot-clad feet. They, whoever they _were_, had clearly been waiting inside the van. There was no sign of the driver, but he, or she, could be anywhere in the sea of bloody bodies. Men. Women. Thin. Fat. Old. Young. Teenagers. Senior citizens. Even – God help them – children who looked no more than ten years old were scattered about the gravel, lying three deep in places. More bodies decorated the walls of cars like grisly garlands. One particularly gruesome specimen hung by a single heel from the side mirror of an old Chevy Corvair, its guts literally hanging down, intestines blowing in the breeze. Sam swallowed bile.

Too many. There were too many. They couldn't possibly all have been waiting in the U-Haul, and what could have brought so very many demons together for one massive attack? It was unimaginable. It –

"Why did you interfere?" Michael demanded.

Sam's head swung around, his eyes tracking to the archangel's face, but Michael wasn't talking to him. The archangel's gaze was focused on Castiel, who now had a hand on Bobby's shoulder. Bobby, still looking stunned, sank down until he was sitting on the ground, dropping his head between his bent up knees. Castiel glowered at Michael.

"Interfere?" he repeated scornfully. "Since when is fighting demons interfering?"

Michael's eyes narrowed, but to Sam he looked more puzzled than angry. "You have foresworn your vows to Heaven and you have no personal allegiance to me. Why would you seek to protect me? It's ludicrous."

"I do not wish you dead," Castiel said, sounding as if it took a supreme effort to force the words past his gritted teeth. "And I certainly do not wish your vessel – "

"As I said," Michael interrupted, "ludicrous. _You_ could certainly not stop anything that was strong enough to defeat me, and you were injured when you tried to intervene. You should stay out of the way of your betters."

Sam's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but, looking stuffed, Castiel blipped out before Sam could speak. His offended dignity lingered in the air like a scent, almost stronger than the coppery blood that still made Sam's stomach churn.

"What happened?" Sam asked, drawing Michael's attention to him at last.

"You should return to the house," Michael replied, stepping calmly through the bodies and taking Sam by the arm. He turned Sam back toward the house, clearly intending to walk with him, but an outraged voice from behind him stopped them both.

"How in the holy hell am I supposed to cover all of this up?" Bobby demanded near hysterically. "And why in the name of Christ are these things coming after me like I was the second coming or something?"

Turning back, Michael explained, "It is not you they are after. Lucifer knows that I have taken my true vessel at last, and he has not yet succeeded in winning Sam over to his cause. He will be desperate to see me destroyed, disabled or, at the very least, delayed before I can move against him."

"Well, I'm the one they were trying to pig stick," Bobby grumbled, sounding a bit more like his normal self as he regained his feet.

"Because they suspected I was here and believed I might defend you. They are testing both my strength and my intentions," Michael replied blandly.

"Well, your intention right now better be to help me cover up this hellish mess or we're going to be up to our asses in the law!"

"I do not see how it could possibly matter what height your local law enforcement officers are."

"What!"

"Did you not say that we will be up to our – "

"Ass deep, you numbskull! It means there'll be dozens of them. They'll have to send a whole bloody taskforce. I'll be more famous than the Zodiac killer!"

"You wish me to remove the bodies?" Michael asked, sounding decidedly put upon. The archangel was visibly struggling to maintain patience with the ridiculous and, in his opinion, no doubt irrelevant demands of the humans he was stuck guarding. Though why he was guarding them, Sam still hadn't quite figured out. He'd thought he was getting close to that before…

"Yes, damn it!" Bobby shrieked. "Get them out of here!"

Michael shrugged. "Very well. It's a simple enough matter."

Kneeling suddenly, though not releasing his hold on Sam's arm, Michael began to draw a quick pattern in the bloody gravel with two fingers. It was clearly Enochian of some sort, but Sam couldn't make much of it out, and watching Dean's fingers trailing back and forth through the bloody remains of so many innocent civilians made him stomach lurch violently. He was on the verge of shaking loose from the archangel and running for some privacy when all of the dead bodies began to smolder. Then they burst into flame, burning both rapidly and with an intensity that was blindingly hot. Within seconds, all the bodies had been reduced to a thick, dark smoke that drifted away on the wind and little piles of ash that blew slowly about the salvage yard floor.

"Good thing it's a burn day," Bobby grumbled, watching the ash filled wind blowing toward town. The sarcasm was pure Bobby Singer, but there was a hysterical edge to it that Sam didn't like. Even for someone who'd been hunting as long as Bobby, who'd seen as much as Bobby had seen, this was _too_ much. Sam started to go to him – he was old, and he didn't take good enough care of himself, and visions of heart attacks and strokes danced uneasily behind Sam's eyes – but Michael clamped down on Sam's arm, and Sam suddenly found himself standing in the house once more.

"Stop doing that," Sam grumbled, yanking his arm loose and turned to go back outside, but Michael grabbed him again before he's taken a single step, his grip like granite.

"Do you see now? Do you see what is coming for you and yours? What do you think would have happened had I not been here? What do you think will happen the second time? The third? The fourth? What happens when I am not here? Your friends will die and the demons will take you." Sam gulped, gazing into Michael angry and implacable eyes, but the archangel was far from finished. "They will give you to Lucifer," he said, his grip on Sam's arm tightening perceptibly. "He will not torture you, not physically, but he is the Morning Star. There is a reason so many of my brothers and sisters fell with him. They fell, not for his ideals, not for their own convictions, but for _him_. Lucifer is powerful, persuasive and given enough time and space, he can bend anyone to his will. You have quite literally no prayer of holding out against him, not with prolonged exposure. You will say yes. It is only a matter of time. I have no option but to deny him that time, and I can't do that while I'm playing games with you. Now, give me Famine's ring."

Sam felt every word like a blow, beating away at his certainty that he was right, that extracting his promises from Michael was all that mattered. "But…" Sam began, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"No more buts, Sam. No more stalling. You'll only end by getting everyone you care about killed, including your brother." The hand on his arm tightened momentarily, then released him entirely. "Give me the ring," Michael said softly. "It will be all right, Sam. Just give me the ring."

Nodding, not looking up, Sam pulled the cord from around his neck. As it came free of his shirt, he heard an indrawn hiss of breath from the archangel and looked up, concerned. Michael was staring in rapt fascination, not at the ring, but at the amulet which hung from the same cord… Dean's amulet. Sam felt himself flush. He'd been carrying the amulet around his own neck ever since Dean had thrown it away, since he'd retrieved it from the trash. It had been the breaking point, the moment when Dean had made his fatal decision to say yes to Michael, and carrying it felt like carrying a millstone around his neck, but Sam couldn't bear to part with it. Hastily, not looking at the archangel, Sam unstrung Famine's ring and thrust it at Michael, keeping the amulet and its cord tightly in his fist. He half-feared that Michael would demand the amulet as well. It was, after all, supposed to be a means of locating God. Maybe Michael had a hankering to find his father. But the archangel already had Dean, and as far as Sam was concerned, he had no right to anything more.

Without a word, Michael took Famine's ring and turned to walk away. Hastily putting the necklace back on, Sam raised his eyes and stared morosely after the archangel. He wanted his brother back, damn it. He wanted – was that… Sam's eyes widened as he gaped at his brother's retreating back.

"Michael!" he yelled, running after him.

The archangel turned, a slightly harried look in his bright green eyes. "What?" he snapped.

"Michael, you're… you're smoking," Sam gasped out.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Grabbing him by the arm, Sam spun the angel around to face the mirror on the hall tree beside the stairs, surprised by how easy it was to shift the normally immovable object. Once turned about, the archangel could not possibly avoid seeing the smoke that rose in steady wisps from the left sleeve of his jacket. It escaped from the cuff, and seeped through the fabric itself, rising lazily into the air where it dissipated as if it had never been. Michael's eyes widened in the mirror, and his arm disappeared from beneath Sam's hand as the archangel vanished.

_Author's Question: So, just because I'm dying of curiosity, does anyone have a guess about why Dean is smoking? Not that Dean isn't always smoking hot? *insert evil grin here*_


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: Well, thank you for waiting so patiently while I obsessed on BBC Sherlock for a while. Here is the next bit of "Too Dark to See" with the much requested Dean/Michael POV. Enjoy, and remember that reviews are love. Oh, and Sherlock fans need not worry. I am still actively writing those stories as well._

Chapter 14

"No more buts, Sam," Dean heard Michael chastise his brother. "No more stalling. You'll only end by getting everyone you care about killed, including your brother. Give me the ring. It will be all right, Sam. Just give me the ring."

With a reluctant nod, Sammy did as the archangel commanded. Dean's heart ached for the kid, but Michael was right this time. Delay was their enemy. They had to strike hard and fast at Lucifer before the fallen angel could get his hands on Sammy... or the rest of the world. Dean could feel Michael's immense satisfaction as Sammy pulled the cord free of his shirt, and the smugness made him wish devoutly that he could kick the feathered dick no matter how right he was.

_"This is for the best, Dean, all will be – " _Michael broke off sharply as Sammy pulled not only the ring but Dean's amulet free of his shirt. Dean gasped – heard the gasp actually emerge from his mouth, an unmistakable sign of Michael's own shock – and cringed away.

_"Dean, your amulet… why does Sam have your amulet?"_

Dean didn't answer, couldn't answer, not when his thoughts were whirling like a poltergeist on meth. Sammy must have retrieved the little golden idol when Dean dumped it. That was clear. What he didn't know was why. Why had his brother taken his necklace from the trash? Castiel had declared the amulet worse than useless. What was the point in having a device that could help you find God when God did not _want _to be found? True, Dean had never known the necklace was supposed to be good for anything. He'd kept it because it was a Christmas present from his brother, a sign of the closeness between him a Sammy, a reminder that – no matter how strained things sometimes were between them – Sam loved him. At least that was what it had meant to Dean before their little side trip to Heaven. After Heaven, everything had been different. No, that wasn't true. Nothing about Dean's relationship with his brother had changed… nothing except his understanding of that relationship. He'd finally learned the truth, and it had damn near killed him. Knowing that your own brother cared so little for you that he could only imagine a heaven _without_ you, that had been a hard truth to learn. Knowing it had rather gutted the little golden amulet of all meaning. Dean had, in that moment, finally believed that Castiel was right. The amulet was useless… meaningless. He'd dropped it in garbage where it belonged, his heart feeling as hollow as the garbage can sounded when the necklace landed in it with a metallic clang.

But if meant nothing, why had Sammy retrieved it? And why was he clutching in his fist now as if fearful that Michael intended to snatch it away along with the ring?

_ "You see Dean," _Michael gloated,_ "Sam does love you. If he did not, why would he keep a memento that you yourself threw away? You can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me. You must reconsider your decision to destroy yourself. Let me give Sam the promise he's asked for. Let me – "_

_"No! Stop it!"_

The archangel bristled in disgust and irritation, took the ring from Sam's outstretched hand, then turned on his heel and marched away, cutting off Dean's view of his brother's pained face. Dean didn't complain. The last thing he wanted right now was to face Sammy.

"_You are a stubborn fool,"_ Michael sighed. _ "Perhaps he is better off without – "_

"Michael!" Sammy called.

"What?" the angel snapped as he turned to face his vessel's brother.

"Michael, you're… you're smoking," Sam gasped, looking utterly dumbfounded.

"Don't be ridiculous," Michael said dismissively. Sam scowled, then grabbed him by the arm and turned him about. Dean found himself facing the hall tree mirror, and he recoiled at what he saw there. It was his clothing, his body, his face, and yet… it wasn't. The expression and posture was all wrong, alien and Dean knew his skin would be crawling if all of his bodily functions weren't currently being controlled by an angel. An angel whose gaze was focusing in the smoke rising wispily from the seams and cuff of his left sleeve.

"_What the hell now?"_ Dean blurted, gaping at his reflection, but the scene before his eyes changed before he'd even finished the thought. In an instant, he found himself standing in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Every surface not covered in dust was covered in books. Dean had been in the room before but not for many long years, and the books seemed to be breeding like tribbles. Once again, he stood before a mirror, this time a full-length, free-standing antique with a crack along the bottom. The glass was coated in layers of dust years old, but even through the grime, he could see that his left sleeve was still smoking.

"_Am I on fire? Am I on freakin' fire?"_ Dean howled, the words ringing inside his mind so loudly that even Michael flinched.

"_Calm yourself, Dean,"_ Michael advised him exasperatedly. _"There is no need to – "_

"_When you were trying to convince me to say yes, you said you'd put me back as good as new when you were done with me. And now I'm on fire? You be calm!"_

_ "You are not on fire. There are no flames."_

_ "Hah!" _Dean retorted. _"You ever heard the old saw, 'Where there's smoke…?'"_

_"You are being infantile."_

_ "I am being immolated."_

_ "I am an archangel," _Michael grumbled, taking Famine's ring and stringing in on the same chain that held War's ring. The, looking back up, he began fingering the fabric of the sleeve curiously. _ "What could possibly burn me?"_

_"Umm, duh. Holy oil."_

_"Which would be much more obvious and unmistakable. It would not kill me, but even shielded as you now are, you would feel the pain of such an attack."_

_ "Okay. So if it's impossible, why is my sleeve smoking?"_

_"I do not know," _Michael admitted grudgingly.

_"So take it off and look, you nitwit."_

_ "Stop ordering me about,"_ Michael growled, his eyes – Dean's eyes – narrowing ill-temperedly.

_"Stop stalling," _Dean countered.

With a sound that Dean could only describe as a huff, Michael shifted his shoulders and shrugged awkwardly out of Dean's heavy green cotton coat, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. The moment the coat slipped off his arms, more smoke that had been caught and held by the thick fabric billowed out, rising in little streamers toward the ceiling. Dean drew in a mental breath and felt Michael do the same. The left sleeve of his blue denim shirt was visibly charred on the outer edge over his upper arm. Staring fixedly at Dean's arm in the mirror, Michael began to remove the rest of his clothing. It took far longer than the hunter would have expected because the super-powerful archangel – Heaven's greatest weapon, his ass! – didn't seem to know how to work a button.

"_You have got to be kidding me."_

"_When would I have had occasion to work these arcane fixtures?"_ Michael grumbled. _"Angels do not require clothing. We feel no shame in our true forms and – "_

_ "And you don't live where it's 20 degrees outside and a stiff breeze will shrivel your testicles up like a pair of prunes."_

_"I do not have testicles,"_ Michael corrected automatically.

_"You do now, brother, and you'd better take care of them."_

_ "I am _not_ your brother,"_ Michael snapped, still fighting the buttons. _"And these fastenings must have been invented by one of Lucifer's idiot followers… or perhaps a demon."_

_ "Nah. They're more into hooks. Believe me, I know." _Michael grew still, his hands ceasing to fuss at the buttons, and Dean could only stare at his hands, helpless to shift his own gaze. _"What?" _he asked impatiently, when the angel simply continued to stand there, staring at his hands.

_"What was it like?"_

_ "What was what like?"_

_ "Hell."_

Dean blinked mentally. Okay. Tangent. Serious tangent. _"Why ask me? There must have been plenty of angels along on the great Free Michael's Vessel from Hell mission. Can't you find out from your higher knowledge bank?"_

_ "I meant, what was it like for you?"_

_ "It was all beer and skittles," _Dean rejoined without missing a beat.

_"Dean, please, I want to know."_

_ "Why? You don't give a crap about me. I have it on good authority you didn't even come along on the rescue. Now would you finish with the striptease already, so we can see what's wrong with my arm?"_

Michael sighed aloud, but he resumed his fight with the buttons. _"I wish you could do this,"_ he grumbled.

Dean froze, arrested by the idea. _"Could I? Is there a way for me to take over for a minute?"_

_ "No. It is not possible for me to cede that much control. I would have to leave you entirely, and that would not be safe, as I have already explained to Sam."_

_ "Huh." _Dean waited in silence after that, deciding that he shouldn't push his tentative truce with Michael to the edge by laughing at him anymore. Eventually, the archangel managed to unfasten the denim overshirt without destroying it or even ripping off any of the buttons. It only took about ten minutes. _"Good thing we're not worried about anything south of the border," _Dean quipped, unable to help himself, _"because I wouldn't want you working a zipper near my man parts."_

_"Nor I,"_ Michael agreed wryly. He pulled off the overshirt and both of them stared in horrified fascination at the final layer of Dean's clothing, now revealed. Dean had been wearing a long-sleeved, tan, thermal undershirt when he went to meet Michael, and he still was wearing it. It had not, however, had a large hole in it when last Dean had seen it. The fabric of this shirt wasn't just blackened or charred, it was gone, completely burned away. More smoke had escaped when the overshirt was removed, and bits of ash had fallen to the floorboards. The edges of the hole in the thermal were still smoldering, sparks glowing visibly in the cotton weave. Through the hole, outlined almost perfectly, glowed Castiel's handprint.

_"What the hell?"_ Dean breathed, gaping at the glowing handprint, or at least trying to as Michael frantically ripped off the last layer of Dean's clothing, temporarily obscuring his vision. _"I mean, what the FUCK?"_

_ "I don't know,"_ Michael admitted as he swiped at the grimy glass of the mirror, leaving a streak of slightly less crusty silver behind him. He stepped closer, angling Dean's body sideways for a better look. The handprint was bright red, its outline was as sharp as the day Dean had returned from Hell. The patches of skin where Castiel had gripped him were raised and swollen, standing out above the rest of his skin. It looked fresh and angry as any new burn scar… except that burn scars didn't generally smoke as if they were still on fire.

_ "How…"_

_ "I don't know!"_

Michael waved his hand over the scar, dissipating the remaining smoke, and Dean was relieved to see that no smoke seemed to be coming from the skin itself, just from the clothing that had rested over the top of it. When the archangel held Dean's right hand a few inches above the burn, Dean could feel the heat rising from the flesh. It didn't feel hot enough to start a fire, more like the way Sammy had felt when he'd had strep throat that time as a kid. God, that episode had scared the crap out of Dean. He hadn't known what was wrong with Sammy at the time, just that the kid had a fever over 100 degrees, was crying in pain and their dad was out on the road. With no way to take him to the doctor, Dean had plied his baby brother with cold drinks, ice chips, and anything else that would soothe his throat. He'd even stolen ice cream from a local convenience store. That had been a close call. They'd been lucky that strep wasn't serious. If it had been something serious… Dean shook himself. Sammy was an adult now and he didn't need Dean to worry about him anymore, let alone take care of him.

_"This is not as good as new, Michael," _Dean grouched, grabbing on to the first thing he could think of to distract himself from thoughts of Sammy, especially little Sammy.

_ "That hardly seems relevant since you have expressly asked me to kill you when I am done with you," _Michael said distractedly, still with Dean's hand hovering over Castiel's handprint.

"_You're a jerk."_

"_And you are a… I believe humans would call you a whiner."_

_ "You unbelievable ass!"_ Dean shouted. _"I'm a whiner? You dicks started the Apocalypse because you were freakin' bored and feeling unappreciated, and you think I'm a whiner? Why, because I don't want you to destroy the world? Because I don't like your sucky-ass Heaven?"_

_ "Because you are determined to feel sorry for yourself and throw away the gift that God has given you."_

_ "What gift?"_

"_Your life. Your very soul"_

_ "I'm doing what you wanted!"_

_ "I wanted you to say yes, Dean. I never wanted you to die."_

"_Then you and your whiny siblings should have left us all the hell alone."_

_ "It was Lucifer's followers who began all this, not I."_

_ "You aided and abetted. You and Zachariah and Rafael and all the rest of the harp playing douche bags."_

_ "I told you, Dean, I was not party to Zachariah and Rafael's plan anymore than I was party to Azazel's scheming." _Michael looked up and met his own gaze in the mirror again. _"Nor have I ever played a harp."_

Dean groaned. _"That was sarcasm. Duh."_

Michael rolled his eyes, which left Dean feeling unexpectedly queasy. _"None of this matters at the moment. There is something wrong with this vessel. We need to focus on that and nothing else."_

_ "Umm, hellooo. I _am_ this vessel, and there was nothing wrong with me before."_

_ "Well, something is wrong now. I must – "_

_ "So help me, if you say 'seek revelation,' I'm going to start throwing things."_

"_How?" _Michael demanded wryly.

_ "And a great big bite me to you," Dean replied sourly._

_ "I must examine this more closely," _Michael said, closing their eyes. _"I am uncertain what I will find, so be prepared."_

_ "And how do I – " _Dean broke off as he felt Michael actually touch the raised skin of Castiel's handprint. A jolt passed through him like lightning. His muscles contracted, his entire body going rigid and making him flash back to his accidental electrocution a few years prior. He heard a gasp, felt a sensation like falling and then knew nothing more.


End file.
